It's Only Time series
by Katherine Cruz
Summary: Post show series of shorts starting from the last BrianJustin 513 scene. It shows the progress of BrianJustin relationship during 5 years of being apart. The series will progress into a WIP that is in the works.
1. Minutes to Go

-1**Minutes to Go**

I feel his weight pressed on me, feel him still inside, soft and wet and I will my eyes to remain closed. To stay here. With him.

His breathing is deep and steady, the slight wheezing noise that passes for his snore surrounds me. I realized long ago that it was difficult to fall asleep without that sound next to me. Behind me. Around me. That it was the only time I felt safe.

Peaceful.

Home.

I feel his body shift slightly and I know I can't stay here. That the spell…the moment had to end. I open my eyes, turning my head as much as the vise of his hand in my hair allows and stare at his profile.

Fuck, he's beautiful.

He's always been beautiful.

I let one hand trail softly down his damp back, memorizing the lines I already know. They're etched inside my mind, stamped with infinite precision. He was my first work of art. I'd never seen anything as breathtaking as he.

I never would again.

His grip slowly relaxes and I wait, silently, for his body to move away. For him to turn toward sleep, toward his dreams.

I wonder how he can sleep through this. I know deep inside that he isn't really. That his thoughts are here even if he doesn't want to be.

I also know he's making it easier. That he somehow, in his infinite Kinney-wisdom, knows if I look into his eyes, hear him say goodbye…I won't go.

I wait for him to shift, to move away as he always does…but he doesn't. His breathing hitches for a moment and I swallow that lump that had been threatening to wail out of me all night.

Minutes to go…that's all I have left. My arms tighten around him, face turning into his shoulder…collecting his smell…basking in his warmth…stealing the smallest bit of him.

It would be the only thing I would have.

I well up, tears hitting his skin and I know it's time.

My arms loosen, sliding down and over his skin, touching his hair for a split second before pushing softly against his body, supporting myself as I scoot out from under him. The cold air hits my body and I shiver.

I glance at him, his face buried into the sheets, his breathing steady, rhythmic and I smile.

Brian was a hell of a fake sleeper. Always had been.

Minutes to go…

I hurry through the process of dressing, finding my shorts, pants and shirt where we had begun, near the couch, tossing them on without much thought. I would dress again at Daphne's before heading to the airport.

I can smell Brian on them…on me. I close my eyes, back straightening against the sudden ache that punches through me.

_These things are hard. These things hurt. _

No other words were truer. I glance around the room, memories rushing at me from every corner. Places we'd fucked. Places we'd laughed. Even the places we'd fought. Moments running through my mind…secrets nobody needed to know…

I remember a different time…another suitcase packed, another ticket to New York bought.

"_Don't go. You can't go. What are you going to do without me?"_

"_I don't know. I guess I'll survive." _

"_Doubt it." _

I look back at him now. He's in the same position and I know he'll stay that way until he's sure I'm gone. Until he doesn't have to face me. It's his only defense…and mine.

I move towards the room, taking the steps to stand by the edge of the bed, staring down at this man…this god…Brian Kinney. I sit quietly, watching his back rise and fall, tucking it away for the future. For the nights, days, minutes where missing him seems unbearable, I'll remember this. His sounds…his smells…

I reach out a hand, splaying it over his back, before I give in, and slide myself closer. My head comes to rest on the small of his back and I close my eyes. Just once more.

"_What about me?"_

"_I'm sure you'll get along just fine on your own."_

"_No I won't."_

"_Yeah you will. You're going to do what you should have done a long time ago. You're going to meet some twinkie your own age. "_

"_What do you think I want with some kid who doesn't know shit?"_

I kiss his skin, once, twice, a third time and lay one cheek on the hard contours of his back, rubbing softly. Maybe I think this will keep him with me. That I can take him on my own skin. That way we'll never be apart.

Minutes to go…I know. I leave one last kiss, pull up and away, catching a strand of hair into my hand. Silky…like nothing I had ever known before.

It was time.

I run one hand through his hair, pausing to rub the back of his neck before continuing down his back and over his ass…before pulling away. I stand, leaning over to kiss the back of his head. There are questions I wish I could ask. Things I need to say. But they seem to get stuck inside and I whisper what I know he needs to hear. "I won't look."

I pull back, watch him for a few more seconds and then force my feet to move. I turn towards the door. My eyes only focus on the exit. The way out of the pain. I snort at that thought.

The pain would start with the door.

I reach for my luggage, hauling one bag over my shoulder while dragging the other as silently as I can.

My hand pauses on the door handle and I wait.

"_Go. Go take your shower. Go to New York. Go to your new life. In a year, probably not even that long, you won't even remember my name. Oh, what happened to that kid who wouldn't leave me alone, who thought he was in love with me. Do you fucking think of me at all?"_

"_I won't. I won't think of you."_

"_Aha."_

"_When I walk out that door I don't plan on ever looking back. And I expect you to do the same."_

The door opens as I pull and I walk through it, dropping the shoulder bag to the floor. I won't look into the loft. I can't. My mind expects to see him there. Staring at me with those hazel eyes that know everything. Wants to believe that he'll stop me. I slide the door shut, leaning against it.

Minutes to go…

I pull back, grabbing both bags and heading to the stairs. I imagine I hear the door slide open and pause, before moving forward. I hear his voice in my head as I walk down and away.

"_And I expect you to do the same."_

I never look.


	2. All of the secrets

**All of The Secrets**

You knew it would hurt. That when this moment arrived, you would feel everything you'd always avoided. Your fears and excuses for never letting another heart touch yours would have been validated. What were those fucking clichés everyone always used? Heart ripped out? Soul torn apart? Organs ground to dust?

Didn't even begin to fucking cover it.

You refuse to move from where you've been laying for hours. The stiffness in your arms and legs keeps you alert enough, away from the soft seduction of sleep. You bury your face deeper into the sheets, his smell caressing your senses. The pain was preferable to leaving the only piece you had left of him.

You will, eventually, knowing you can't stay here forever. It wasn't in your nature to wallow…for too long. But you figure what the fuck. Losing half of yourself deserved as much.

Jesus. You'd turned into a goddamn lesbian.

You could care less at the moment. Later, there would be time to berate and ridicule your actions. Not now. Now you would get to…

Your hands grab at the sheets, fingers tightening around them, and you fight the grief bubbling inside. You feel your stomach and chest shake against the force and you let something akin to a moan escape. One tear manages to come loose before you push down, plugging it away inside.

It was a leak you couldn't afford. One that you knew would cripple, and that wasn't going to happen.

You thank whatever force had given you the strength to keep from showing any of this to Justin.

It had taken every bit of willpower to let him go. Not to reach out and grab his arm when he'd pulled out from under you. Not to have turned to look at him when he'd laid his head on you. Just like when you'd first been together and he'd thought you'd been asleep. He'd slide closer, his head on your shoulder or back, and just listen to your breathing.

It was almost your undoing, the kisses he'd placed on your skin, and you were relieved when he simply walked away, the imprint of his lips on your neck and his words in your head.

"_I won't look."_

And you knew he wouldn't. You'd wanted to open your eyes, to watch him walk out that door.

You couldn't.

But you knew the moment he did. Felt the moment the sun went out and darkness descended. It even felt colder, staler…color turned to sepia.

Shit.

You had expected the pain but not the emptiness. Not the vast nothing that seemed to weave around the moment you'd heard the soft whoosh of the door. You had to have known it was coming. If you thought about it, you knew you had. That the moment you'd entered him that night, it had been to fill up. To keep some part with you. It had been love that drove you into him.

You could count on one hand the number of times you'd made love in your lifetime.

Never before Justin and you were sure, never again.

The first time had been for him. At least that's what you had told yourself, in that moment when your bodies, bathed in blue, had succumbed to the quiet of each other. You'd watched him then, feeling your heart swell against your will. Relishing the soft gasps, the feel of your hands in his, your lips on his skin. You'd known you loved him then.

The second time had been a rush of emotions and needs. Kisses replacing apologies and words, hands taking the place of promises and demands. You could admit that one had been for you as much as for him. You'd wanted him to forget the feel of music. You wanted to remember the sound of art. How it consumed and filled everything.

The day he'd accepted your proposal had been the third. It had felt…right. You'd wanted the moment to be special. For him…even for you. Touches filled with love, whispered words and, what you had never given him before, promises.

But…tonight had been for you. You'd entered him over and over, holding onto him for strength. Surrounding your skin with his scent….your mouth with his taste…your hands with his touch. You'd needed to feel him. Deep and hard and…always. You looked into his face, seeing the boy you'd wanted inside the man you loved. Touched his cheek with your hand, finding the evidence of his pain on your skin. You'd held onto him as tightly as you could, needed to feel him there. With you.

You knew now that'd you'd feel him…forever.

You let out a bark of laughter at that thought.

Yep. A fucking lesbian.

The first rays of sun shimmered through the windows and you knew it was time to face the nothing. You stood carefully, loosening the stiff muscles and allowing your eyes to look around you.

The rush of memories hit you before there was even a moment to prepare. Places you'd fucked. Places you'd laughed. Secrets shared and not known were in every corner.

So many things never said filled up the space he'd left behind and for once in your life you almost feel…

No apologies. No regrets.

"_He loves me."_

"_Your dreamy-eyed schoolboy."_

"_In ways that you can't."_

"_In ways that I won't."_

"_He told me that I'm all he wants."_

"_They still using that one?"_

"_It's more than you've ever said."_

"_And it's more than I ever will. So, ah, what the fuck are you still doing here."_

"_Would you care if I wasn't?"_

You remember that ache from then. Almost wishing that you could tell him how much he'd meant. That you had loved him. But you know that it would have made no difference. That manipulating him to stay would have been unfair. You were not enough then. You never had been.

That little truth was your secret.

You reach for the drink now, still undressed. His dried come on your skin feels like a connection to hold on to. You can't wash him away. Not yet. You pour the first shot, gulping it down and pouring the next. Dulling the pain had always been easy. Never-ending fucks and bottomless bottles of Beam.

You know this time that won't be enough.

"_What, and you're so smart? If you had any fucking brains at all you never would have let me leave. You would have told me I was making the biggest mistake of my life. That I would live to regret it. That what you gave me was worth a thousand, a million times more than anything he had to offer. You would have told me that you loved me. That you would go on loving me even after I was gone."_

"_Is that what you were waiting to hear?"_

"_Yes. But as usual you never said it. So it's just as well that I go."_

It had always been your pattern. To let him walk away, too afraid…too stubborn to tell him the truth. Keeper of secrets you could never tell.

"_Then why are we still doing this, if we both know it's never going to work?"_

"_Damned if I know."_

And then…the world you knew blew up, shattering everything you ever told yourself you believed. You had realized in that one horrifying moment that you needed him. Like nothing else in your pathetic, empty life.

You dress slowly, not showering for now, and sit on the bed, breathing in slowly when that hurt returns. The emptiness grows and you lie back, reaching into your pocket for a smoke. You light it, inhaling the harsh smoke into your lungs, allowing it to settle before blowing it out slowly.

He had been the one. You know that now. You're sure you knew it then. Had always known it.

That was why you had to let him go. It was the reason you had lied to him. Pushed him away to chase the dreams he would have given up for you. Let him believe that the life you had been building with him wasn't what you wanted. That it would have changed you.

You followed the pattern. Of keeping the secret locked away.

And you lied, telling him that you couldn't live with someone who sacrificed his whole life and called it love. You felt your heart shatter and your pride swell when he'd agreed. You had done exactly what you'd said you didn't want.

You'd sacrificed your life for his, calling it love.

And you'd watched him go.

He would become someone. The person he was meant to be. The man you'd helped build, and that soothed a part of you. He would leave for the life he was destined to have.

Never knowing that he took yours with him. That everything you ever wanted would leave when he did.

You swallow down the emotion that wants to claw its way up and out of you. Push it down, filling in the empty hole inside. You had changed for him and you couldn't change back. It would be your secret…nobody needed to know.

Nobody would.


	3. Breathe the fall

**Breathe The Fall**

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

I stare at the colorless ceiling, listening to the soft breathing next to me, refusing to look over at the body that produced it. Every time I did, disappointment would cut deep and I would need to escape. To the only place I didn't have to pretend.

I lift the covers off, quietly leaving the bed…leaving him behind. The lights from the city bathed the dark room with an eerie glow. It reminded me of home in many ways. I look out the window, taking in the beauty below. Paris…the land of art and love. Romance bloomed, lived, breathed, moved in this wondrous city. It surrounded me daily.

Never quite reaching inside.

I lean my head against the cool glass, the unending ache burning steadily and I laugh mirthlessly.

How the fuck did I get here?

And why wasn't it enough?

My mind wanders over the last two years, looking for the moment I had decided that I needed to sacrifice all I was and loved for this…

I can't think here so I move, taking a jacket from the stand next to the door. I grab the keys to the studio, opening and closing the door as quickly and silently as I can. I breathe once outside the confines of what is supposed to be home and start climbing the stairs to my sanctuary. The only place left I still feel like Justin.

Not Monsieur Taylor. I hated that fucking name. It wasn't who I was…who I wanted to be. Somehow it had become who I was supposed to be.

The door stands before me and I smile for the first time. Pride blooms quickly whenever I'm here. I made this happen. Bought the loft and flat with money I made doing what I loved. It was the only thing that made sense to me anymore.

My work. I lived and breathed it.

Commissions, art shows here and back in the States, private work for collectors….it all seemed like a dream. That I had made it this far. It seemed like such a short time, but I had gotten lucky.

Good reviews…good people who worked to help…and the man I'd left in the bed.

Paul…

I was grateful for him. He was my friend…my mentor…and more.

_But never your partner._

I shake the thought out. It was the truth, I knew that. But it shouldn't have been. I should have been able to give him more.

I couldn't. And if I was honest, I didn't want to.

My eyes are drawn to the canvas across the room, following the lines of the face sketched there. It feels like a punch and I struggle to breathe. He was beautiful. Even in a fucking useless drawing.

"_Drawing my cock again?"_

"_Just doodling."_

The memory rushes through my mind and the ache magnifies, almost pushing me to fall on my knees. I grab onto the counter and grimace against it.

This wasn't supposed to still hurt.

Fuck.

I can't seem to look away even as the pain intensifies, the look on his face like the one from that night. It was everything and nothing. All his pain, his love, his pride, his want for me, his fear.

It had scared the shit out of me.

Because if he had asked me to go with him, to come back home, I would have left it all behind.

It had started so simply. I missed him, yearned for him so much it would become a distraction. And I would pick up the phone, hear his voice, and want nothing more then to be home.

"I'm coming back."

"The fuck you are," he would say.

We'd argue for hours until I was so angry that I'd hang up and be grateful I was hundreds of miles away, otherwise I would have killed him.

And then I'd miss him more.

The calls became wounds that would never heal. Every time his voice came over the waves, I would want…just want. His hands, his smell…him. I would close my eyes and feel him next to me….inside….all around.

I won't even admit how many times I packed my bags and headed for the airport. Too many to count.

Then…it became just hearing his name mentioned, whether it was my mother…or Molly…or Debbie. I would choke up…feel the emptiness spread and need to leave the conversation. Later I could use it for…inspiration? Is that what I called it?

It was torture. Pure and simple. For both of us.

And then it changed…grew… and the pain seemed to cover everyone I loved. Debbie's voice could bring me to tears…Emmett and Ted….even Michael's would have me panging for home. With them. With Brian…and it would start all over…the anguish. I never imagined it was going to be so difficult.

It was Paul who had suggested that I needed a little distance. To perhaps let what once was life go. To build a new one.

I'd told him to fuck off.

I know that he had meant well but…that was my family. The only thing I'd known. I could never leave them behind.

And then one night…it changed.

And somehow I did. I called home less. The hurt subsided enough that I could function. I could work and focus on the reason I had to leave. I shoved away the guilt when the messages piled up and began to slow down until they nearly stopped. I knew that they loved me. They knew I loved them. We still had holidays and the occasional birthdays.

And the distance grew…became familiar…the norm.

Except for Brian.

He'd continued to call and email as much as he could. But it had changed, and we had become polite friends overnight. People who once knew each other but no longer. 

Every call…every email…covered up our pain even as it threaded through every word. Unspoken and yearning so, that it cost too much. It would pull at us constantly. And eventually that became too real….too hard…and we stopped.

Hollow and empty without him, without all of them, I turned to work and relationships that were never supposed to be. Turned to Paul to fill in the silence, the void I couldn't will away.

Pain management.

All because of one fucking night…

An artist's first showing was the best night of his life. At least that's what I had always been told.

It was filled with praises and excitement. Fancy people with fancier words piling me with compliments and drinks. I fumbled through it, sensing the same fakeness in them that I had in Hollywood. I guess all business, even art, had it's share of hypocrisy.

It was through the din of voices that I heard the familiar sounds of the people I loved. Debbie's loud laughter…the boys' not so subtle banter about the food, folks, and fucks to be found in New York…Mel and Lindz sharing knowing looks across the room…my mother and sister's proud revelry at what I had accomplished…even Ben's calmness drifted to me, surrounding, and I soaked it all in.

And that ache returned…flared so sharply that I had to stop from bending in pain.

Shit. It had been the worst pain I'd felt…until I'd seen him.

He was standing with Hunter in a corner watching over the group as they wandered around. I knew the minute he felt my gaze as his back stiffened slightly and he turned to meet my eyes. His smile was the most brilliant I had ever seen. Mine returned of its own volition. He held a brightly wrapped gift in his hand and I grinned deeper, if that was possible. He had brought me a present. Brian Kinney had bought me a present.

We stood that way for what seemed ages until I felt a hand circle my waist and I turned to see Paul. He was introducing me to some art critics. I barely heard their names, nodding and exchanged pleasantries.

I turned quickly to Brian and my heart stopped.

He was frozen, staring at us, and as I tried to shake off Paul, he looked away for a moment. I followed his gaze and noticed that everyone was watching. I pulled Paul's hand off and he turned to me, kissing me softly before returning to his conversation.

When I could return my attention to the group, they all seemed to have found something more interesting to look at. Except for Brian. He was staring at me, coming to stand in front of me.

"Hello Sunshine."

His smile ripped at me and I reached for him, even as my own heart broke at the contact. I buried my face in his chest and almost sobbed when his arms wrapped around me, holding tightly for far too long to make it casual. His breath seemed labored and I knew he was fighting the same demons I was.

We pulled away then and I stared up at his face, tracing one finger over the stubble that covered his jaw. "I think I like the look."

He smiled again, though it never reached his eyes, and shrugged. "It was shave or miss the plane."

"Well, fuck that."

He laughed softly, one arm coming around my shoulders, and turned to survey the room. "Not bad, Sunshine." I knew that meant he was thoroughly impressed, and I turned to thank him for his unbelievable compliment when I heard Paul's voice behind us.

"Well, I don't think we've met."

I closed my eyes. I hadn't had a chance to speak to Brian yet.

"Brian, this is Paul. Paul Sanders. He's my…" I wasn't even sure then what category Paul fell into, "manager."

Brian looked down, extending his hand out to the other man. "Brian Kinney."

"I've heard all about you, Mr. Kinney. It's a pleasure."

Brian nodded. "Usually is, yes."

Paul paused for a moment, unsure of what response was appropriate for that. He chose to ignore it and continue. "I'm sorry to steal Justin away, but the _NY Times _wants just a quick statement."

"I'll be there in a minute." 

Paul took the hint and, looking at Brian once more, walked away silently.

I couldn't bring my eyes up, afraid of seeing that empty nothingness he would have on his face. The _I don't give a shit _Kinney mask. But when I looked into his face…it was pain and pride warring with one another. He smiled softly, leaning his head to touch mine, one hand held at the back of my head. His eyes remained closed even as I stared, dizzy from the nearness of him. I wanted to scream at him to take me home. It was so deep, that need, that I couldn't breathe.

I would give it up for him. None of it was important.

"Congratulations, Justin," he'd whispered then.

Hands entwined, I leaned into his scent, his heat, until I could hear the murmur around us begin to fade and all I could feel was him. It seemed to last a lifetime and not nearly long enough.

He pulled back, cocking his head in Paul's direction. "You better go meet your destiny, Sunshine." He held onto my hand for a beat longer, and then he kissed me. So soft and gentle that I was startled by it. Before I could react he was gone and I was surrounded by questions. I answered them in a haze, never quite hearing what was said.

Nothing else stuck with me from that night. I'd sold almost all the work I had displayed, something almost unheard of for an unknown to do. But I knew then, like I do now, that I lost so much more.

Here I was…success story to the world. Dreams that seemed impossible come true. I'd be damned if I felt ashamed of that. It was what I had wanted. But what the fuck had been the point?

There were days, weeks that I could manage. Not think about him. Not feel his hands or hear his voice. Times where I wouldn't dream about his smell or face. And I could move ahead. Move forward. I built a life, one that I was proud of. One that I thrived in. I made friends that I enjoyed being with.

It was my life.

It was what I had chosen. And I was…content. When the agony wasn't gnawing at me…when I didn't miss him…them all so much that it hurt to breathe.

Not being there was supposed to ease the pain. It was the reason I had fled halfway across the country. The ache was unbearable. Time and distance was supposed to heal and make it better. I should have been able to go on. Miss them but not allow it to cripple me. But it seemed to gain strength over time, the pain.

Letting them go was never going to happen. I knew that now.

Letting him go…impossible.

How did I get here? So far away from who I wanted to become and so exactly the person I was.

My eyes fall on the canvas once more and my heart beats faster…like it always will when I look at him. I let my head rest against the cold marble of the wall as I continue to stare at the only remnants I have of him. Memories…

The pain…it was deep and abiding and endless….it would be there until the moment I ceased to exist. It was forever and I could never outrun it no matter how fucking hard I tried.

It wasn't supposed to be this way.

This hard to live without him. This easy to yearn and want and need…to forget and remember. To want it all and nothing at all.

It wasn't supposed to be….


	4. Tongue the bruise you leave

**Tongue the bruise you leave**

You're Brian Kinney for fuck's sake.

You run that single thought in your mind as you sway to the persistent thump of the music. Your body gyrates, sways, less graceful than in your younger years. You close your eyes, hands thrown up to touch the shower of glitter that falls from above. Your head falls back and you don't think of crystal blue eyes and sunshine.

Sounds of laughter, of love and life caress your skin, your soul… you shake your head to the rhythm and your eyes slit open, focusing on nothing and everything.

You don't think of alabaster skin and warm breath. Of callused hands and soft lips.

Of broken sighs in the night. Hands on your face, in your hair.

You let the bruise inside darken, expand…

You do the only thing you can.

You keep dancing.

You wonder when it will stop. The constant ache that springs inside when his voice drifts through the telephone line…fills the room as you listen to the same message so many times you lose count.

You marvel at the strength of your voice when you talk with him. Inside it's all crumbling…falling in pieces and you realize at once, you can't speak. So you let him talk…let him tell you about his day. His work and new job. His new life.

And inside the bruise blackens…throbs.

You ache for light…for air, and only the sound of your name on his lips pushes you to respond. Hear the worry in his voice, asking how you are.

You do the only thing you can.

You keep lying.

You walk in a blur, perplexed at your inability to be who they expect you to be. You can feel Michael's worried glances as you chew soundlessly on Debbie's pontenesca. There was nothing you could say to ease his mind. He wanted to see your pain the way you always showed it.

Indifference and fucks and bottles of Beam.

Shit. _You _wish you could. You reach for more wine and nod when Debbie offers more of her love onto your plate. She hesitates before shoveling it on the white ceramic. Your fork spears the food randomly.

You wanted to break. You wanted to fall.

Bruise and bury and bleed…

You do the only thing you can do.

You maintain the façade.

You thought you knew real pain. Had experienced it when your life…your heart lay bleeding on the cold asphalt floor.

When it walked off in a storm of color and rage.

When you pushed it toward dreams and fate.

You follow his light from across the room. Watch as he pulled farther from you…from everything that loved him. You feel sadness at the wave of loss that radiates from those around you. You want to change it.

Tell him to stay. Tell him you were wrong.

But you know you weren't that.

You feel the warm hand on your shoulder and you turn to see Ben's bright blue eyes, not as crystal as the pair you're used to looking into, filled with soft sad understanding and…you smile, wavering.

"Want to go get drunk?" he says, pointing behind him to the group gathered in what could only be called mourning.

You answer with a soft, "Fuck yeah."

You let the bruise bleed.

You do the only thing you can.

You balm the pain.

You know things are different when he stops calling as frequently. You can tell by the way they look at you that they're waiting for your spiral.

You know you are.

It was the way you had always handled that pain. Proven that you could continue. You would wallow…soothe the bruises with different tongues…different hands…fucking and sucking…high and drunk…you would whirl in your despair, sink into the familiar dark hole that was left when the sun disappeared.

And somehow…you would pull out.

Once, it was for him. Light had shone and you'd been drawn out of the stench you'd built and into warmth.

Later, you'd forced a reason. Pretended to find your way out. Clung to lies and betrayals…until shadows faded into the light and you'd found that you'd never really left the darkness.

This time…the darkness grasps at you…soothing and calling. You yearn to allow it in…fall into its endless abyss.

You lean toward it. You almost touch it.

You do the only thing you can.

You fight it away.

Change comes and you settle with it. You talk like the pain doesn't exist. He becomes a part that you worship. You fall into comfort and familiarity.

It's harder then you ever thought.

You hear from him often enough. He shares his life the best he can. You accept what he can give. You never see him for more than a passing moment. It's easier for him you know.

Time passes. Weeks turn into months. Months into years. You tell yourself that it doesn't matter.

You begin to realize that you have the one thing you never had before.

You yearn and wish and want…and believe. You remember the smile that made your day worthwhile. The laugh that would echo through the loft. Lessons he taught you whisper in your mind. You begin to think that it's really only time. You want to be everything he saw.

You were supposed to be Brian Kinney.

You realize you still are, even when Michael jokes about the fact that you've lost your title as King of Liberty Avenue. You want to laugh at the glare Ben sends him. You exchange glances with Theodore. You wink at Emmett and think he's always had the right idea.

Fuck 'em all.

You laugh and live and…love. You feel the bruise mend…turn into a pale yellow…sunshine and light.

You do the only thing you can.

You let yourself hope.


	5. Time is never planned

**Time is never planned**

The changes had come quietly at the beginning. Ben was never sure when it had really happened. He just knew that one day he'd looked at his husband's best friend, at Brian sitting across the table from him, and he'd no longer seen the perpetually immature club boy that ruled Liberty Avenue.

There still remained the acid tongue that could cut to the quick anyone that attempted to force their views on him. That would never change. The propensity to say the inappropriate yet truthful comment. The unrelenting loyalty to those he considered his.

Yet--

Gone seemed the need to prove everyone right about him. Gone were the endless parade of tricks and nonstop self-destructive behavior he had become known for. Gone was the fear that he would one day cease to be the great Brian Kinney.

Peter Pan had grown up.

Though he would never be able to pinpoint when Brian had changed, he knew the reason. He'd so much as told his young friend that. Alone, in his and Michael's new house, messily painting walls some color he had been unsure of, he'd voiced his opinion.

"You never know what the future holds."

"Believe me, Ben, it doesn't include a house on 'Breeder Avenue'." Justin had mimicked Brian's facial expression and continued to work on painting, his strokes angry then.

The derisive comment had pained Ben some. There was no hope, no trust, and it seemed a waste to him that these two people, who so very much belonged together, could never seem to get it right.

So he'd told Justin that some day Brian might change.

He had believed it.

He had been right.

Brian had committed. Planned to marry the boy…the man he loved. He'd begun to let go of those old ghosts just a bit, allowed himself to see a future.

But like always…

In the end, Justin had left, for his dreams, for his future…and Brian had stayed behind.

In the life he had started to build that would now remain unfinished.

At the beginning they had all worried that Brian would fall into that dark hole he seemed to live in whenever he and Justin were apart. That he would take to drinking, getting high, fucking to such extremes that he would end up hurt…or worse…

Every time the phone rang, Michael seemed to prepare for horrible news.

It had taken a few weeks before they had all realized that, though he called in to check with Michael randomly, and on pain of death with Debbie fairly regularly, other than Ted who worked with him, they rarely saw Brian. He would be at breakfast once a week. Might stop to talk with them for a few minutes when they were at the gym. There were a couple of drinks had at Woody's, but when it came down to it, Brian had closed away from everyone.

He wasn't drinking to excess. No more drugs than usual. And though Ben was sure that Brian managed to have his needs meet, he seemed to have become more discriminative. Less about quantity now. The truth was that he was never seen at Babylon much.

Instead of relieving everyone, it had sent their small family into a tizzy. They could handle all those other things. Drugs and drinks and men, but this…the quiet agony Brian lived in was new…raw…and no one knew what to do….

Except for the person behind it.

Ben could still recall Justin's face that last Thanksgiving they'd all spent together, the one right after Justin had moved away to New York. How his eyes had seemed to follow Brian everywhere. Ben had watched their reactions to each other. Brian smiling, sadness lurking in his eyes, whenever Justin would lean in to whisper some secret in his ear. Justin's head leaning into Brian's, lingering for a fragment too long.

It had broken his heart knowing that this was all they had now. Desperate moments spent clinging, stolen time when their lives joined for a night, a weekend, and Ben had wondered how they would survive it.

The answer had come rather quickly.

They wouldn't.

Ben had sensed it when Justin had gathered them all together after Brian left to run some errand that had been forgotten. Justin's hands had been shaking, running through mussed hair nervously, and eventually he'd asked them all for a favor.

They had to take care of Brian.

"I know it's a strange request." Justin had pulled at the shirt he was wearing, his blue eyes barely meeting any of theirs. "He puts on a fucking good show…but he's going to need…you all."

Emmett voiced what they had all been thinking. "Justin, honey, we love Brian, but he's not exactly the easiest person to help."

"I know, but…I just need you all to do this. Please."

He didn't explain why. Really didn't have to.

They were family. They would do what he asked.

But the questions hung there…the fear…and even if they hadn't wanted to see it…the truth.

Ben had felt heaviness…something in the distance that was going to smother them all.

It hadn't taken long.

That night had changed a lot of things for everyone. They had all watched Justin pull away. Had all felt him slip quietly. It had been Brian's face that remained clear in Ben's mind. The mixture of loss and pride warring, the hollowness in his eyes as he let what he wanted walk out of his life.

He remembered the impulse to comfort his friend, and if it had been any other time in their lives, he would have allowed Brian to grieve alone.

"Want to go get drunk?"

Brian had hesitated before whispering a harsh, "Fuck yeah."

Things had changed.

Ben did what he could. He'd bought the first round and they proceeded to drink themselves into a stupor. To push away the ache they all felt.

No one more than Brian.

Emmett and Ted had regaled them with stories of what they lovingly called "stalker Justin". They'd laughed about the road trip to New York to rescue the little twink before he got killed. Jennifer reminded everyone that Justin almost gave up his art and how she'd always wondered who had talked him out of it because once her son made up his mind…

Brian's hand had shot up, drunken grin across his face, and Jennifer had laughed, coming to hug him from behind, kissing his temple gently. They had stood quietly for a moment that way, Ben imagined both grieving the boy they had lost to lights, noise and destiny.

But in the end, it had been Brian that had comforted them all. Set the example (God knows he hated when Ben pointed that out) that letting Justin go was the only option they had. Reminded them that family was forever.

No matter what happened.

So their lives had moved on. They'd laughed, cried, yelled….shared triumphs and happiness…tragedies and sadness…

The world continued to revolve, their family survived even if an empty place remained…

Weeks passed into months. Months passed into years. And one day Ben looked at Brian….really looked at Brian, sitting at Debbie's weekly Sunday dinner, laughing at a ridiculous joke he shared with Hunter. He noticed the hint of gray at his temples, the small crinkle under his eyes, even the relaxed slump of his shoulder. Brian sensed his stare and met it, one eyebrow raising in question, and in response Ben shrugged, only smiling in return.

Brian had given him a confused glare, before being distracted by Emmett's latest conquest debacle.

Ben watched him closely then and after. Had thought of how much Brian's life now entwined with everyone else's. His decisions were made more carefully. His world touched them all.

The life Brian led was still his own, just quieter, not less as they'd all thought at first…just quiet.

Later he would find Brian in the back, cigarette in hand, watching the skies. Ben knew that he liked coming out there. He never asked why, though he could guess.

"Hey."

"Hey Professor." Brian had passed him the smoke without turning his head and they stood in silence, biting winter air blowing on their skin. Newly fallen snow gathered at their feet, and Ben had grown the courage to ask the question that had plagued him.

"I'm not one to butt in…"

"No, that would be Mrs. Novotny-Bruckner's area of expertise."

He'd ignored the comment, biting his lip to keep from smiling at that small truth. "Why did you do it?"

Ben thought that Brian would ignore him or pretend to have no idea what he had meant, but like always he'd managed to surprise him.

"Because it was what he needed."

"Are you sure it was what he wanted?"

Brian had shaken his head, his eyes meeting Ben's. "No, but I know that for the rest of our life, he would have wondered if we were the right choice." His hands hid inside his pockets as his head had leaned back, white breath escaping with his next words. "Now…he'll know." Brian nodded to the house. "Tell them I had to go."

"Yeah…Say hi to-"

"I will."

Ben had watched him leave, stunned at the false perception that the world had about Brian. He couldn't understand how anyone couldn't see the difference. Later that night, he had laughed in Michael's face when his husband had wondered out loud why Brian had ceased to fuck his way through the male population of Pittsburgh. It was the truth….Brian still had his share of tricks of course…he was Brian Kinney for fuck's sake… but nothing that compared to before.

Ben had simply looked at Michael, kissed his forehead before turning away.

Sometimes his honey had no clue.

He couldn't blame him because it had taken Ben a long time to figure it out…hadn't until that very night.

Brian was biding his time. Or whatever the equivalent to that he would allow.

He was waiting for the changes to come that would bring what he wanted most…

Ben had felt the smallest sense of relief and hope.

Peter Pan had grown up.

And, without knowing it, he was waiting for the star to guide him home.


	6. Distraction at your door

**Distraction at your door**

He would never discover why it started. And he would never be able to pinpoint exactly when it began. All Brian knew was that on certain days…the ones where he could barely take a step out of his loft…on days he wanted nothing more than to allow the numbing darkness that emanated from every corner to consume him, even if just for a short while…they would be there.

Bringing papers to sign, supplying tuna macaroni casserole (the one he loved when he was a kid), asking for advice or offering the same. Teasing with fatty snacks and endless hours of cinematic experience.

They would appear, by his side, bearing shards of color in the absence of sunlight…

"_**I need you to take care of Brian."**_

"Oh fuck," Hunter mumbled, his hands stuffed inside his coat pockets, eyes glaring at the huge metal door that stood like a goddamn symbolic obstacle. Cold, metal door….hard and impenetrable. Like the man who he knew resided on the other side.

What the fuck was he thinking when he agreed to do this?

Hunter snorted. He _hadn't _been thinking. He'd allowed his romantic - good lord -- sensibilities to get the better of him and let his fathers talk him into it. He rubbed one eye with a gloved hand and inhaled deeply. He said he'd fucking do this and he would. It was a couple of hours. It wouldn't kill him…Brian might …

The thought gave him momentary pause because for all his bravado with Brian, the guy intimidated the hell out of him. His mind flew to his parents, to their faces of pride as he'd been the first to volunteer when no one else had wanted to touch the day.

He wasn't about to return home to see the same faces showing disappointment.

And there was Justin. He hadn't gotten to know him well, but what he knew was that he and Brian had loved each other very much.

Even the littlest hustler could see that clearly.

He'd made a promise. He wasn't about to break it.

He could make out the soft tendrils of music seeping out from the small crack between the floor and where the door began. He stared at the shaft of thin light . Brian was still home. Hunter shook his head. There was no way to know whether he would be going out later but -- well fuck -- if he knew one thing about Brian, it was that you could never assume anything.

"Here goes nothing." He rapped his fist against the hollow metal three times. There was a long moment and he wondered if the music had drowned out his pounding. He adjusted the strap of his book bag and raised his hand again when the heavy door slid open and he stared into a pair of hazel - or were they green today?- eyes. Hollowed and pained. His breath stuck inside for the second it took to register the vulnerability in Brian's weary face. In the following moment it was gone, replaced by icy indifference.

Shit. He had remembered. Not that Hunter had thought for a second that Brian would have forgotten today…just wishful thinking.

"Well, if it isn't the Little Hustler That Could." Brian stared hard, one eyebrow raised in question. "To what do I owe the dubious honor? Or is there a new door to door service these days?"

Ouch. He was in a state tonight. Not surprised in the least, Hunter swallowed the bitter shame that surfaced at Brian's taunting and smirked. "Only for the truly special, Brian." He stepped past the older man confidently, taking note of the growing pile of cigarette butts that littered the ashtrays. He recognized the mix of the sickly sweet smoke and what he assumed was some form of liquor. His eyes quickly fell to the nearly empty bottle of Beam on the table and a moment later to the small jewelry box that lay open next to it. The light glinted off the gold circles tucked inside and his earlier anxiety returned.

"What the fuck do you want?"

He wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. _Oh, you know just making sure you aren't going to kill yourself on what should have been your one year wedding anniversary with the only guy everyone says you ever loved?_

Yeah. That wouldn't go over well.

So fuck the pity, it would only get his ass kicked out faster. The strategy to handling Brian, as Emmett had so kindly told him, was to meet fire with fire. Not to take his baiting, no matter what. With that in mind, Hunter turned and sent a twisted smile at Brian.

"Actually just thought I'd drop by to check up on you. You know what they say about the elderly. They shouldn't be alone all the time. In case they fall and can't get back up or some shit like that."

Hunter could see the edges of a smile forming on Brian's lips and he silently thanked Emmett for the advice. He was so going to supply that queen with a new set of Lana Turner DVDs.

"Is that so? We're a little boy scout these days. Oh wait, no. You're a jock now, right. Basketball? Football?" Brian walked around him, and Hunter sensed when he noticed the box still laid out on the table. He heard the soft scrape of fabric when Brian picked it up and ignored the snap of the lid. He watched the older man casually drop it into an open drawer before closing it softly. Hunter met his eyes, catching that quick jolt of pain he hid damn well and smiled at Brian's next words. "Who the fuck cares. I mean, you'd know better than most that balls are balls, right?"

Hunter replied happily. "That's the fucking truth. Speaking of balls, how are yours hanging?" He paused and grinned. "Or should I say how _is_ yours hanging?"

Brian registered what for him was probably shock and then suddenly he burst out laughing, flinging an apple he'd retrieved at Hunter. "Fuck off, you little shit."

Hunter caught the apple deftly, biting into it quickly. Well…this was definitely going better then he expected.

Next step: distraction.

"Seriously, I came here to ask for a favor."

Brian paused, looking at him strangely, as he checked his pockets for his lighter. He pulled at the cigarette held between his lips and asked. "You want a favor from me?"

"Yeah." Hunter placed his book bag on the table, opened it and pulled out page after page of papers. He could see Brian watching him and he swallowed thickly. He really did need help even if at that moment it was the excuse he needed more. He glanced up finally and sighed. "I have to fill out these fucking papers."

"What are they?"

"Next of kin forms, power of attorney… not that I have anything to power over but Mel still said I should… my will, medical forms…" He rubbed his forehead roughly. Justin had once told him that Brian was one of the most selfless people he knew. That when someone needed his help…he would give it. "Forms for DNR requests and…forms for a living will." He glanced at Brian and watched as the emotions the older man never showed played quickly across his face.

"You want me to -- no fucking way, Hunter." Brian shook his head, stubbing out the barely smoked cigarette in a new ashtray. "I did that once. No."

Hunter smiled. "I just need help filling out the forms." He knew it was a fucked up thing to use as a distraction but nothing else had sprung to mind, and, as he looked around, he also knew Justin had been right. Brian needed them to help. Even if he didn't realize it. Or would ever admit it.

"Why can't Michael or the Professor do it?"

Hunter eyed him. "Are you fucking kidding? You bring up any of this to Michael and he starts the waterworks. And Ben…he has his own shit to get straight."

Brian placed one hand on his hip, the other reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Do they know you're here?"

"Yeah. Course." Granted, they had no clue what Hunter was asking Brian to do, but that hadn't been the question.

Brian closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before opening them again. The empty, dull look that had been there before seemed to have lessened, and Hunter grinned when Brian started to walk toward the table.

"Okay. What do I have to do?"

Damn. Justin was good.

Hunter handed him the first stack of papers and mentally patted himself on the back. Mission accomplished.

"_**This isn't easy to ask but he's going to need…you."**_

"Emmett, what the fuck is all this?" Brian placed one hand on the towering mound in Emmett's arms, steadying him as he pushed his way into the loft.

"What does it look like?" Emmett chewed his lower lip in concentration, carefully taking one small step after another until he had reached the safety of the white dining table, and, with his usual flair for the dramatic, dropping it all with a final flourish. "Ta-da! I not only give perfectly posh parties, I can also deliver incredible mounds of mishap to your front door." He sent Brian a dazzling smile before stifling a shriek when the buzzer rang and running to the intercom. "Sorry, sorry. Come up."

Brian stood, barefoot and shirtless in the middle of the hall, face contorted in annoyance and confusion. Emmett ignored him for the moment, meeting Darren halfway down the stairs. "I got it, honey. Go on. Get to your appointment."

"Shanda appreciates it." He blew a kiss before clicking loudly down the stairs and out the door. Emmett took a deep breath, preparing for what he knew would be an ultimate Brian meltdown.

And everyone called him the queen. Brian could out queen him any day of the week.

He plastered on a smile, rushing through the entrance and placing the cake in his hands on the counter. "Okay, before you say anything, I have a great explanation for all this."

"One too many tabs of E? Death wish? Your too tight leather pants cut off the circulation to your brain?" Brian bit out the words as he pulled the sliding door closed.

Emmett sighed quietly. He knew he should have picked some other day. But the suggestion had been Debbie's, and he knew saying no to her was like asking for his balls to be handed to him on a silver platter. He was fond of his genitals as they were, so here he was. On what he knew had to be one of the more difficult days for Brian.

He inspected his friend from his vantage point, noting the dark circles under Brian's eyes, the slump in his shoulders. That aura of bleakness that covered him still on occasion. Not as often as before, thank god. But still…

It occurred to him that he'd rarely been alone with a half naked Brian. He really was fucking gorgeous. Emmett cleared his throat, and when Brian brought his gaze to him, he stared pointedly at his bare chest.

The other man grinned widely and quirked an eyebrow. "Making you uncomfortable in _my_ own house, Emmy Lou? Can't contain yourself?"

"Brian, please. I'm flattered that you want me so much you feel you need to resort to strutting around like a peacock, emphasis on the cock, but sweetie, really, you're not my type."

There was a pause and suddenly they both laughed.

And that was why they had never remotely come close to fucking. The thought alone seemed so ludicrous that neither one would even consider it.

Two opposites did not a good fuck make. Well, at least not in this case.

"Go put on a shirt. You'll need it."

Emmett threw Brian another amused glance as he walked past him to the bedroom and began setting up the room. By the time the other man had returned, he had laid the cake out in the middle of the table, brought over Brian's laptop, and was rifling through a thick stack of papers.

Brian stood staring at the mess and asked in a tight voice, only reserved for occasions when he was truly perturbed, the same question he'd had when Emmett had strolled into his house with no invitation. "What the fuck I _is /I _all this?"

Emmett jumped slightly before setting the stack in his hand down on the table and pulling out Brian's chair. "It's a surprise."

Brian sighed, one hand rubbing at the sudden ache that was forming in the back of his neck. "Emmett, I hate surprises. You know that. I'm not in the mood for this. So just get your shit and-" He was cut off by the sound of the computer dinging in a call. The only one who ever did that was…

Emmett clicked on a few keys and Gus' face popped up on the screen, and seeing Emmett he broke into a grin. "Hi Auntie Em!"

"Hello, baby! Happy Birthday!" Emmett cheered, glancing back at Brian, whose face had relaxed at his son's unexpected appearance. There was a light in his eyes that had been absent before, and Emmett watched as Brian straightened the shirt he wore. He hid a smile at the nervous fidgeting and moved out of the way when Brian plopped down on the chair.

"Daddy!" Gus clapped two chubby hands together, his face beaming even brighter, if that was possible, when he saw his father.

"Hi, Sonnyboy." Brian leaned onto the table, smile spreading across his face, and Emmett let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding. This was going better than he'd imagined. He was still convinced that someone else could have handled this occasion better, but everyone had assured him that Brian would go easiest on him.

"You know he considers you the baby of the family, next to his son and Justin, Emmett," Michael had soothed.

Teddy had jumped in, reminding Emmett that Brian had always had a soft spot for him and it would be cruel to send someone else to their death.

Hunter had commented that he had survived beautifully and Brian didn't even like him.

Emmett suppressed the sigh that threatened to escape. He was such a fucking pushover sometimes.

"Are you ready, Daddy?"

Brian's face registered confusion and he replied carefully. "For what, Sonnyboy?"

Gus' eyes rolled like only a six-year-old's could and he sighed dramatically. "For the party, Daddy. Duh."

Emmett laughed loudly. "Of course we are, Gus. Go get your mothers and JR , we'll wait." He waited until Gus had disappeared from the frame and he could clearly hear him call out to his mothers before turning to

Brian. "Okay, look. I know this isn't an easy day for you, Brian, and don't give me any shit about it not bothering you because-- well, it's shit."

One eyebrow rose in response but Brian said nothing, simply nodding.

"I just thought it would be nice if you got to see your son on his actual birthday. Not a week or a month or whenever the girls decided they could spare him later, or you decided you could make it up there. So I called them, arranged a time, and brought the party favors." Emmett withdrew two hats from a bag on the floor, handing Brian the cowboy one and ignoring the stare he received.

"Don't be an asshole, Brian."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why the fuck do you care how I feel today, Emmett?" Brian glanced at the screen, not seeing anyone yet, and returned his gaze to his friend. "I don't get it. What made you think it was any different than any other day I don't see my son?"

"Because today is the day he was born, and no matter what you like the world to believe, I know you love your son."

"I love my son everyday, Em." Brian's quiet intensity wavered in his voice and he continued to glare, searching for more…knowing there was more. "It doesn't matter what day it is. So why today?"

Emmett half groaned in defeat and met Brian's eyes. "You know damn well why." When Brian made no pretense to acknowledge what Emmet was saying, he continued. "I was there, Brian. I remember your face. I remember that moment. And, fuck it all to hell, I know that your life changed in that instant. That nothing was ever the same."

Brian looked away, emotions playing swiftly across his face and just as quickly disappearing. "It's nobody's business, Emmett." He gritted through his teeth, eyes closing for just a moment, and Emmet knew, just as sure as he knew that his new lime green pants made his ass look magnificent, that Brian was remembering that moment…the figure under that streetlamp.

"Maybe it's not. But I just-- I don't know. I thought you could use a friend."

Brian opened dulled eyes to glare at him and he shook his head. "It's mine. That moment is mine, Emmett. I don't want to share it. With anyone."

Emmett fumbled for the appropriate words to counter and, finding nothing, he shrugged helplessly. "I'm not looking to share. I'm just looking to help."

Brian stared for a long moment, hearing approaching footsteps through the speakers, and he nodded in assent. "Fine."

Emmett grinned in relief. "Good. Now it won't take long. We'll sing 'Happy Birthday.' Gus will blow out the candles there. You'll blow them out here. We'll open some presents and then it'll be over. Deal?"

Brian replied quietly. "On one condition."

Emmett looked at him.

"I'm not wearing the fucking hat."

When Lindsay appeared onscreen all she heard was Emmett's loud laughter drifting out of the speakers…

_**"He'll never admit it but it's going to be hard on him."**_

"Did you know that he owned a Cher doll when we were seven?" Daphne snorted, taking a small toke from the joint in her hand before passing it over to Brian, who was currently having a fit of what could only be called giggling. "Seriously." She slid to the floor, settling onto her back and angling her head so she could glance at him. "Should have been my tip off he was gay, huh?"

Brian snorted now, nodding. "No shit."

"Well, I just thought he was sensitive." At Brian's incredulous look, she laughed, swatting at his arm. "I was seven, for fuck's sake!"

Brian grinned, quietly preparing a second roll for them to share. They let the comfortable silence they always seemed to share fall between them and she watched as he went to work on the new joint. Methodically adding and rolling and shaping. She watched his eyes focus, and even through the dull haze she saw the intensity there. It had been that way since she'd met Brian. His eyes said everything and nothing. Justin had once told her that he had fallen in love with Brian's eyes first. She could understand that.

Which was why she was here. She loved Justin. And, in loving him, she had grown to love Brian. Had sometimes loved Brian over her own best friend. She knew it was ridiculous, but her mind would jump to the months of the -- she still shuddered to think of it -- Ethan debacle, the trip to LA just when she had started to feel that their non-relationship had been making progress, the aborted wedding that had broken everyone's hearts, and now…

Here they were. With Justin now thousands of miles away, with someone else, afraid or too pained to keep in touch like he had promised he would. The anger that rose was immediate and she pushed it aside. Fuck it. This wasn't about her. Whatever she and Justin were or weren't anymore, he had asked a favor from her…from them all. And she would do it.

Not just for him or Brian but for herself. Because unlike the others who'd each chosen a day like they would a name from a hat, she had known the one she would share with Brian. There had been no question about it. The day had cemented her cheerleading status when it concerned Brian. Through everything she had believed he loved Justin. She still did.

And, unlike the others, she hadn't needed an excuse to corner him in his loft. Hadn't needed to trick him into letting her stay. She had simply shown up at his door, a bag with ice cream in one hand, a familiar well-worn VHS tape in the other, and her med school application in her briefcase. He'd glared at her for only a minute before she'd kissed his cheek soundly, told him to kiss her ass, and asked where he kept his spoons.

After a change of clothes and a round of Beam, they'd opened the ice cream, digging in while she played the tape. When the beginning strains of "Yellow Submarine" drifted from the television, Brian had frozen, spoon halfway to his mouth. She'd pulled out her last offering, the dime bag she'd purchased from one of her neighbors, handing it to Brian. He'd laughed then and started preparing their shared smoke while the sounds of the Beatles floated around them. She half-expected to see Justin walking out of the bedroom, giving them both his signature roll of the eyes at their state.

They'd continued to share in her generosity long after the music had finished, occasionally switching from the bong to shots and back. They'd started to fill out her application between fits of laughter and she was well aware she would need to submit for a new one in the morning. They'd fallen into their current game of sharing one thing the other didn't know about Justin.

They had been at it for an hour and that had been her ace in the hole. The Cher thing. She was sure she was out of things.

"Beat that, sucker."

Brian shook his head, stared at her before taking another long puff and inhaling. "You're stoned, Daph."

"Yes, cause you're so fucking sober, Bri," Daphne commented, soft smile on her face and in her voice. "So, what do you got? What can you tell me I don't know?" She held her hand up. "And no sex stuff, _please_. I know too much as it is."

His face seemed to darken suddenly, and Daphne felt something inside warn that whatever he was going to say would be…scary.

"Did you know that I knew I loved him when that fucking bat hit his face?"

She gasped softly, cursing under her breath at the admission. They'd managed to avoid referencing that up until now. It wasn't unexpected. That was the reason she was here. To commemorate that five years ago fate had seen to it to fuck up their universe. Had taken an act as sweet and romantic as Brian sharing a dance with Justin at the prom and turned it into such a horrific experience that Daphne was sure it had convinced Brian he was not meant to share in those kinds of moments. Her yet to be earned Psych degree notwithstanding, it hadn't taken a genius to figure that out, even back then.

But that sudden blurting of truth….shit. The look on Brian's face was raw and she realized he still felt the same guilt now that he had then. "Brian."

He refused to look at her but continued to speak. "When it happened, at that exact moment, I knew it. I fucking felt it inside so sharp it was a goddamn knife. And when he lay there bleeding…his life slipping out, all I knew was that it was my fault."

"Brian, that's not true."

He shook his head, fending off her comforting tone and words. " It was. Because I loved him. I did. I probably had for a long time. Shit. He was different from that first moment." One hand rubbed circles on the other absently. "And I had done this…stupid thing for him. I had broken every rule I had to go there and give him that one dance he wanted. Because it was the only thing he had ever really asked of me. And I wanted to, for once, do something right." His smile was bittersweet and his eyes finally met Daphne's. "It was the only time in my whole fucking life I wanted do what was right. And it came out completely wrong. Ironic or what."

Daphne's hand came to rest on his cheek. "It wasn't your fault, Brian." He looked away and she allowed him the retreat. Drugs or no drugs, Brian had shown her more than she knew he'd ever meant to. But this guilt had been eating at him for years. "It was a horrible crime committed against Justin, and to an extent against you." He huffed out an indignant noise and Daphne almost smiled. "You think I don't know about the nightmares."

His head swerved so quickly she heard the snapping of neck muscles. "What?"

She shook her head. "Well then, I guess there's another thing you didn't know about Justin. He knew about your nightmares, Brian. He once told me that you would never remember them in the morning. Or you'd pretend they never happened. He said it had helped him to some extent because he'd hold your hand or hug you, he'd calm you down in your sleep, and it allowed him to focus on something other than his own fear for awhile."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

Brian shook his head, one side of his mouth twitching up. "That's so fucked up."

Daphne giggled, wrapping one arm around her friend, as she leaned against him. "Yep. That was you two…always beautifully, wonderfully, perfectly fucked up."

Brian sighed. "We were great that night, weren't we?"

Daphne giggled, head laying comfortably on his shoulder. "You two were the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Nothing and no one will ever change that."

She felt his arm around her own shoulder and smiled when he whispered against her head. "He always makes everything beautiful."

They let the comfortable silence they always seemed to share fall between them…

"_**Sometimes he's not going to let you help."**_

"Brian, we really should do this tonight. The work load is too much. We can go over the new presentations. Make sure everything runs smoothly." Ted pleaded, frantically signaling Cynthia as she passed his side. Putting one hand over the mouthpiece, he whispered harshly, "He's changing our meeting for the end of the week."

Cynthia threw her hands in the air, exasperation tinting her every word. "What are we supposed to do with everyone that's showing up?" They'd planned the surprise dinner for a couple of weeks. "We can't just cancel right now." She glanced at Ted. "Can we?"

Ted shrugged, returning his attention to his conversation with Brian. "Are you sure about this, Bri?"

"Yes, Theodore. I am sure I do not want to spend tonight stuck in a meeting room with you."

"Cynthia will be there, too."

"Oh well, in that case…"

"Really?!" was Ted's hopeful response.

"A double fuck no. "

Ted sighed, shaking his head at Cynthia, and she cursed softly, turning on her heels. He knew she'd call everyone. Thankfully it was only family invited to celebrate Brian's one year cancer-free anniversary. If that was even what you would call it.

He had spent the better part of two hours attempting to convince Brian that they needed to go over business. He had even been tempted to tell him about the dinner, but he knew that would have made Brian run away faster.

At least it was the thought that had counted. He had picked this day because he'd been there with Brian as he'd gone through the treatments. He'd seen how Justin had taken care of Brian. It had somehow cemented their non-relationship more. Ted had witnessed the love no one else ever admitted to seeing and he'd been grateful that the two had each other. It had even made him believe he might find the same thing. His thought drifted briefly to Blake and he smiled. He had.

"Ted?"

"Yeah. It's fine, Brian. We can reschedule. If that's what you want."

Brian sighed. "I know about the dinner, Ted."

Silence. 

"Ted?"

"You know about the dinner? Why we're doing it?"

"Doesn't take a genius to figure out why, Theodore."

"How did you find out?"

"Fags are notorious gossip queens. Besides, Emmett owed me one."

"I'll kill him."

"Don't fucking queen out, Ted."

"Well, if you know…can't you, you know, show up? It's not at Debbie's."

Brian laughed. "Which is why I know I can cancel. Otherwise I'd have to deal with a pissed off Novotny bearing fucking tuna macaroni and guilt."

"You're saying if it was at Deb's, you'd come?" Ted sounded nonchalant.

"Don't even think about it, Theodore. I will have you murdered." Brian voice lowered. "I need to do this on my own, okay?"

Ted sighed. He could and would always respect Brian when it came to dealing with this. "Whatever you need, Bri. Maybe we could have lunch next week. Sort of a private mini-celebration."

"Next week." After a pause. "Invite Cynthia. She'll be less pissed that way."

Ted chuckled. "You got it. Don't celebrate too hard."

"Me? Never. And, by the way…"

"What?" Ted paused, waiting for the insult to come.

"Thank you, Teddy."

Cynthia found Ted holding the phone, a ghost of a smile on his face and the sound of the dial tone in his ear.

"_**No matter what he says, never give up."**_

"So, what part of 'I hate celebrations' did Mother Taylor not understand?" He stepped aside to allow the red-headed energy ball that was Molly Taylor enter the loft. She smiled at him, that wide grin that made his heart ache for sunshine, and dropped bags on the floor.

"The part where you called birthdays bullshit and mentioned never celebrating your own." She removed her scarf and gloves. It had started to snow and the cold had wiped away the small signs of thawing they had been experiencing. "Shit. It's cold." She bent, picking up one of the paper bags and shoving it into Brian's arms before taking the other one and following him into the kitchen. "It's March, for Christ's sake. There should be rain and flowers starting to bloom, not goddamn snow showers and ice. Fucking Pittsburgh."

Brian stared at her.

Molly stared back. "What?"

"Seriously, is the entire Taylor brood predisposed to swearing like sailors?"

"Shit!" The loft door opened and Jennifer Taylor entered. "It's fucking freezing." She paused at the sound of laughter from her daughter and sent Brian a questioning look.

"What?"

Brian shook his head, silently unloading the bag on the counter between mumbles of "Taylors" and "heart attacks" and "goddamn genes". Molly grinned at the last and wiggled her brows comically at her mother. "I believe Brian was complaining about our tendency to use foul language in the presence of his virgin ears."

A sponge hit her head a few seconds later and Jennifer stifled a laugh as she glanced at Brian, who continued to concentrate on emptying the contents of the bag. "We learned from the best."

"Debbie."

Molly finished her task and, pushing some of the groceries aside, she turned to face Brian's back. Her own back to the counter, she gripped the marble top and pushed up, jumping slightly and settling on the firm surface. She swung short legs back and forth, smiling at her mother. "I learned from Brian."

Brian snorted.

Molly grinned once more and nodded towards Brian as she did. "Methinks Brian is not very keen to the idea of us taking over his kitchen and 'celebrating.'" She emphasized the last word with air quotes and let out a short laugh when another sponge was hurled in her direction.

Jennifer played the peacemaker. "Okay, children. Let's behave." She stepped forward, her hand touching Brian's back, rubbing sweetly before placing a quick kiss on his temple. "Thank you for letting us do this, Brian."

"Not that he had much choice," Molly added, as she stuck a grape in her mouth. "We would have had to disown you otherwise." Her phone rang at that moment, her face falling when she read the Caller ID and taking a deep breath, she answered. "Hi, Dad."

Brian stiffened and felt Jennifer do the same at his side. They stood in silence, eyes narrowed as they watched another Taylor child have to deal with Craig.

"Dad-- I don't know -- at Brian's. Yes. At. Brian's." She slid off the counter, one hand rubbing at her forehead. "I will not. Because he's family." She glanced up, blue eyes unhappy. "Yes. He is." Another pause and Brian could see the anger rising in her face. "Well, I'm sorry you feel that way." She shrugged in that manner only a fourteen-year-old could. "It's not my problem how it affects you. He's family." Her face twisted into disgust. "Well, as a brother-in-law he kicks ass. Yes. I said 'ass.'" In her silence, Brian could make out the loud sounds coming from Craig.

Jennifer reached for the phone but Molly moved away, swiping at her mother's hands. "Wait. Wait. Let me get this straight. You won't pay for dance school if I don't what? Call Brian an asshole? Forget he was practically married to my brother?" She spit out the next words with enough venom to kill. " Oh for fuck's sake. He is not a child molester."

Brian lunged forward but Molly moved out his way. "Yeah, well Dad, Justin was seventeen years old. Legal even here in fair Pittsburgh. If he wanted to fuck the entire Ironmen defense lineup, he could have." She placed one hand on her hip, head tilting. "But he didn't. He only fucked Brian. The man he almost married. I'm sure the same can't be said for the first girl you ever screwed."

Brian turned to look at Jennifer, whose mouth was open, and he could see the pride warring with anger in her eyes over her daughter's behavior.

Molly's hand fisted at her side. Her voice grew cold and quiet. "If that's how you feel, then I can't change it. Fine. I'll find some other way. Goodbye, Craig." Snapping the phone closed, she growled in frustration. "Jesus fucking Christ, he's an asshole."

"Molly! That's enough."

She turned her head to stare at Jennifer. "Oh come on, Mom. He is. I mean, I appreciate being in the world as I'm sure Brian appreciates Justin being here as well, but crap. I'd almost rather not exist than have that guy's DNA running through me."

Brian nodded in agreement, understanding and empathizing. "Fucking A." He gave Molly a high-five and ignored Jennifer's deep sigh. He watched her head to the bathroom to clean up, tossing orders at them over her shoulder.

Molly began to wash the vegetables while he looked for the pots and pans that Jennifer had said she needed. He pulled out Justin's good cookware, setting it up as they worked side by side in silence. After some time, he cleared his throat and offered to pay for whatever dance classes Molly was taking. From the corner of his eye, he could see her pause, thinking.

"I'll ask Mom."

"You think she'll go for it?"

"Considering you're allowing us to have Justin's birthday dinner in your house, and seeing as the three of us are grieving his not being with us right now, not to mention that Mom pretty much loves you to death…yeah, I think it's a safe bet, she'll be happy you want to help."

Brian leaned over, kissing her forehead softly. "You're the coolest kid I know, Molly Taylor."

"Right back at you."

"_**He puts on a fucking good show…"**_

On the day of the anniversary of Justin's departure from their lives, Ben and Michael decided that the only method to dealing with Brian was honesty. So, with no preamble and no excuses, they showed up at the loft. They were greeted with barely a glower and smirk. Brian stepped aside, still on the phone, and with no surprise evident allowed them to come in. When he was done, he raised one eyebrow as Ben made his way to the kitchen.

There was still food left over from the previous night's take out and Michael disposed of it efficiently. He assisted Ben with the set up of the kitchen, chatting animatedly about Hunter, the store, the newest adorable words JR had learned, and the upcoming party for his and Ben's six year anniversary. Brian sat at the kitchen counter, nodding occasionally at him, his eyes never quite focusing. Michael sighed. He knew this day was never easy. That the more years that passed the harder it was to deal with. It should have been the opposite. It should have gotten better.

Three years now.

And, looking at his best friend in quiet conversation with his husband, Michael wished it could be different. He wished Justin was here. That they would be having dinner together, going for a quick drink at Woody's, and then heading to Babylon. That for once he could see the peace in Brian's face he seemed to have whenever the little twink that stole his heart was around.

He almost laughed. If someone had told him, eight years ago when Brian had spotted Justin underneath that streetlamp that he would wish the little fucker would stay forever, he would have punched them.

If he was honest, he would admit how much he missed him, too. Their talks about life and families, their inside jokes about the men they loved, even the silences while they worked on the comic they had created. It wasn't the same with Joe, his new artist and co-writer. He was a good artist, Justin had recommended him when it had become impossible to keep up with that particular demand, and Michael liked him.

But he wasn't Justin. He didn't understand JT or Rage or Zephyr the way Justin had. He hadn't lived through the bashings and the disappointments and the cancer and the bombings. Which was why Michael had made the decision he had.

"We're killing off JT."

Brian paused mid-sentence, his eyes finding Michael's across the room. He let the hand that had been gesturing at Ben fall on the countertop. "What?"

Brian stared from Michael to Ben's surprised face. Apparently Michael had kept this particular bit of knowledge to himself. Brian tapped fingers on the marble beneath his hand. "You're killing JT?"

Michael nodded, not quite meeting his eyes. "I thought it was for the best."

"And why is that?" Brian's voice sounded coiled, tight.

"Because it's unfair." Michael took a deep breath, plunging ahead quickly. "Justin knew the character, Brian. It was him. It was his life. And ever since he…well, it's been someone else's life." He met his best friend's eyes now. "When we began, what we wanted to tell was the truth. I've never been comfortable telling his story without him. And he admitted to me that he felt the same way. So…we made the mutual decision to kill him off."

Ben sighed, shaking his head, and Michael could see that he was restraining from adding something to the conversation. He knew what it was. Ben still believed in happy endings. He thought that one day…Justin would return. The death of JT was a symbol of finality. Of Michael's belief that Justin would never come home.

Brian's quiet voice drifted into his thoughts. "And what about Rage?"

Michael's sad eyes met the tortured hazel ones across from him. "He'll do what he always does." He saw Ben place one hand on Brian's shoulder and squeeze before walking away. Brian smiled sadly but his gaze remained on Michael.

"And what's that Mikey?"

Sad half-smile. "He'll survive."

The buzzer rang at that moment, announcing Ted and Emmett's arrival, and Michael made his way to let them in. Brushing past Brian to the door, he distinctly head him mumble quietly.

"Doubt it."

And, for all that he wanted to, Michael couldn't disagree.

"…_**but he's going to need…you all." **_

"Jesus Christ, Debbie!"

"Daddy!"

"Sonnyboy?"

Brian fell back a step, the force of Gus hurling at his body taking him by surprise. He picked up his son, hugging the small frame tightly, as he glared at Debbie's grinning face.

"Surprised?"

"No shit." He felt her smack against his butt as she moved past him into the loft.

"Watch your fucking mouth."

Brian grinned at her retreating back.

Gus pulled back, identical grin on his mouth. "Yeah. Grandma Deb doesn't like cuss words, Daddy." His small hands framed Brian's face, his smile falling as he looked at his father with the kind of probing gaze no six-year old should possess. "You look sad, Daddy. Aren't you happy to see me?"

Brian was stunned. "Of course I am, Sonnyboy. I'm more than happy." He hugged him again. Turning to Debbie, he placed Gus back on the floor, taking his chubby hand in his own. "But…you weren't supposed to be here until Friday." He glanced at the calendar on his desk, wondering if he had managed to lose two days.

"Actually, the girls thought it would be a nice birthday present to send Gus early so you two could spend more time together. They're still coming up with JR for your party on Saturday." She ignored his snort and held out her hands, the pot in her hands giving off the scent of what he was sure was tuna macaroni casserole. He shook his head, smiling softly. "You know I hate that shi- stuff, Deb."

"You fuc-…you love it. Now shut up and let's eat." She glared at him, moving toward the kitchen for god knows what. Brian was sure she was conducting some inventory to make sure he had enough food to keep him alive until Saturday. He shook his head. How the fuck did they talk him into this? Oh right. He'd been high.

Brian bent down, helping Gus out of his jacket and listening attentively as his son rattled on about soccer, his new school, how annoying JR was, and the presents he had brought his Dad.

"Presents? I get more?" He ruffled Gus' hair, receiving an exasperated look.

"Of course, Daddy. See, Daddy J said that you were a present hog and if we didn't get you lots and lots of them, you would spend your birthday pouting like a four-year-old." Gus smiled, then, mistaking Brian's stony face for anger, he bit his lip. "It was Daddy J said that, not me."

Brian smiled, kissing his son's head softly. "Thanks, Gus. I love this present."

Gus grinned, jumping up and down as he did. Debbie returned with plates and silverware and, addressing him sternly, she told Gus that he needed to wash his hands. Watching as his son disappeared around the corner into the bathroom, Brian turned back to Debbie. "So, it was the lezzies' idea to do this?"

Debbie shrugged. "Might have had some help."

"In other words, you and Justin came up with this plan."

"So? I saw your face the last few dinners where JR had come up to visit Michael and Ben. I knew you missed Gus. I happened to mention it to Sunshine and, well, the rest just happened."

Brian watched her face flush with color and he bit his lip against a smile. He came up behind her, hugging her closely for a minute before kissing her cheek. Pulling back, he whispered, "Thanks, Ma."

She patted his chin and smiled at him. "Wasn't me who managed to convince Mel and Lindsey."

Gus ran out at that moment, pulling on his father to sit next to him. Brian helped to settle him down and excused himself for a moment, taking his cell phone to the bedroom, ignoring Debbie's grin.

He hit the speed dial button, his hand playing with the strands of thread on his worn out wife beater. It rang five times before there was a distinctive click and that voice came through clearly. "Hey."

It shook something loose inside and Brian quickly bottled it up, like he always did. "Hey yourself."

"So…you get your present yet?" Brian could hear the smile in Justin's voice.

"I did. Yes. A little big for me, but it'll do."

Justin laughed. "How is Gus?"

"What did I just say? He's getting huge."

"Time passes by, doesn't it?"

So much left in that sentence, but Brian knew neither one of them would acknowledge that. They never did. "So, I hear you're the one to thank for it."

"Pfft."

"Justin."

"What?"

"I - it means -"

"Brian."

"Yeah?"

"You're welcome." There was deep silence, words not spoken, declarations unmade, and then it was gone and all that was left was emptiness. "Well, I should go. You need to spend this time with Gus, anyway. I'm glad you get to see him. And, Brian…happy birthday."

Brian smiled, ignoring the pang, the screaming in his head to keep that voice talking, the fucking need that ate through him like acid. "Right. Later, Sunshine."

"Later."

He would never discover why it started. And he would never be able to pinpoint exactly when it began. All he would ever know for sure was that somehow and in some way Justin managed to look after him. Even when Brian didn't want him to. All that was important was that, over time, those that he loved became a part of his life like they hadn't been before. In their loss, in their grieving they had formed a bond that few things would break. When he was angry or sad or even just happy…

They would appear, by his side, bearing shards of color in the absence of sunlight…


	7. Trying hard to speak

**Trying hard to speak**

Brush against paper. Streak of violent red, purple, black. Hard, angry strokes. Lines smudging into blurs. He observed his hand jerking across the canvas, rapid, manic. Somewhere he could hear a ring, two, three. Motions faster, slowing to curve shape…color. The click of machine, whirring sound of tape, his own disembodied voice filling space. Distorted images pouring onto blank cloth.

Skin tingled, hand pausing mid-stroke…

"_Justin, it's me. In town for the night. You up for dinner? Maybe Becco at 7? I'll be in meetings all day, so leave me a message if you can make it. Same number…long pause… It'll…um…it'll be good to see you, Sunshine."_

It took him several minutes to absorb the voice and words drifting from his answering machine. Justin shook his head slightly, craving, longing flaring …ignoring the deep pang and his accelerated heartbeat. Dropping his brush unceremoniously on a nearby stool, he reached for the bottle of water he kept at his side in times of creative frenzy when he did nothing more than paint for hours.

Brian.

Swallowing half of the now lukewarm water, he grimaced at the blandness. He needed a fucking drink. He eyed the red flashing light warily, part afraid that it had been his imagination, the other fearing it hadn't.

The door opened, revealing two figures into the bright space of the studio. He barely acknowledged their greetings, mind still whirring with echoes of that familiar tone. How long had it been since he'd heard Brian's voice? Since he'd seen him? Not the quick flashes of him at holidays while they avoided all possibility of talking for more than five minutes. (It reminded him that he hadn't been back hom-… back to the Pitts in 18 months, 20 days, 16 hours…not that anyone was counting.) Or the glimpses Justin would catch in the photos Molly emailed him on occasion.

This was Brian -- flesh and blood. Beautiful and alive and so near that Justin would be able to touch him.

Fuck.

"Justin?"

"Huh?" He glanced up, meeting his assistant's concerned gaze. "I'm sorry?"

Hannah shook two tubes of paint mid-air. "I asked if these were what you wanted. Ron thinks I picked the wrong ones." She made a face at the tall, dark and lanky form leaning against the table.

Justin studied the colors handed to him, blank gaze unable to focus. "Ah…this…yeah. These are the ones." He placed them carefully on a nearby easel, hands rubbing together nervously. "Thanks, Hannah."

"Uh-huh." She exchanged a worried glance with Ron as she asked, "What's going on?"

"Nothing."

One eyebrow rose and Ron smirked. "Right. Honey, you're whiter than vanilla ice cream."

"Vanilla ice cream is yellow, Ron."

He stared at her. "What kind of fucked up vanilla ice cream do you eat?"

Hannah sighed. "The yellow kind."

Ron rolled his eyes, hands gesturing toward Justin. "Fine. Then he looks like white on rice. Whatever. Point is, something made his already white skin look, if this is possible, whiter. So, what's up?" Ron turned to gaze curiously at him and Justin squirmed, shaking his head.

"I already told you--"

"Nothing," came the double mock reply. Hannah folded her arms across her chest, aiming a pissed off glare at him and Ron smirked again, hands held out in question.

Justin sighed, walking to the still blinking answering machine and pressing the play button, and stood back to listen.

"_Justin, it's me. In town for the night. You up for dinner? Maybe Becco at 7? I'll be in meetings all day, so leave me a message if you can make it. Same number… long pause… It'll…um…it'll be good to see you, Sunshine."_

Jesus. It was real. His head fell in his hands and he choked back a scream of frustration. His eyes met Hannah's and then Ron's, a half smile playing on his lips. "Brian."

"Oh shit."

Ron shook his head. "The really hot ex? Nice voice. But I thought you got along fine with him. I mean…the way you talk about him, I figured you still-oof!" Hannah elbowed his mid-section. She quelled his retort with one look, her eyes darting to Justin, and suddenly he understood. "Oh. Well. Crap."

Justin let out a huff of laughter. "Yeah."

He could feel their combined stares and he glanced back. "It's been a while since I've seen him. For any real length of time, anyway."

"How long since you've seen him? I mean _really_ seen him?" Ron asked.

"About a year and a half," Justin replied, eyes closing against another swift burst of… he didn't even know what it was anymore. Guilt wrapped in love dipped in need. "I haven't gone back to Pittsburgh in that long, at least not for more than a day or two, and when I did I usually…" His voice trailed off.

Leave it to Hannah to finish his unspoken thought.

"You avoided him like the plague."

Justin nodded. "Last time we saw each other was my mother's birthday. He showed up unexpectedly. I was with Paul… and it was…"

"Awkward as ass?"

Justin grinned. "Thank you, Hannah."

She grinned back. "Anytime."

He'd met Hannah, struggling writer and self-proclaimed fag hag, his first year in New York. She'd filled a small part of the void left from missing his family…his friends. Ron had come along with her, their closeness a reminder of what he'd had with Daphne. They'd taken him into their very small circle, assisted with his art shows, fairs, whatever the hell got his name out there. They'd shown him the town, brought his spirits up when he was rejected time after time, or made him laugh when he didn't think he could. They'd even encouraged him to keep more in touch with home despite what others (and he) said.

And when he'd found moderate success some time later, Paul had hired them, at Justin's insistence, for their extended stay in Paris.

They were his family now. They could never replace the boys, or Daphne, or his mother, or Molly, or Debbie, but they helped ease the ache from the gaping hole he still felt being so far from those he loved.

So far from Brian.

Jesus.

He was in the same fucking city as Brian. He could _feel_ him.

Ron cleared his throat. "How did he know you were in town?"

Justin shrugged. "Probably read about the show. Took a guess. Mom has the numbers."

"So, are you going?"

Hesitation at the question and then Hannah's loud groan echoed in the room. "You're going."

Justin shook his head. "Hannah, back off."

"No, fuck that." Hands on her hips, curly brown hair trembling on her head, she locked eyes with him. "I know you miss them, Justin. Him. You've missed them for a long time. It's started to show between the cracks, sweetie."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"The girl has a point, though no tact, apparently." Ron sent his best friend a glare before raising surprisingly green eyes to Justin. "It's clear in everything. The stuff with Paul, the art…your inspiration."

"Or lack thereof."

"Hannah!"

Justin sighed. "She's not lying." He'd been thinking about home more often these days. Paris and New York…the art…the commissions…spitting out work for commercial use to please Paul…the agency…

He'd been drained. Of everything.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd painted for…the pleasure. His eyes fell on the recent work scattered around the studio. It was mediocre at best. Nobody except Hannah would have the guts to tell him.

He felt a warm hand on his shoulder and he turned, meeting brown eyes. "Go see him, Justin. Talk to him. Maybe it will get better." Hannah smiled sadly. "It couldn't possibly get any worse."

He let out a humorless laugh. "Of course it can." Sighing, he knew he would go. That he would see him and that instead of making the growing, painful need subside, instead of satisfying the hunger just thinking about Brian ignited in him…it would make it deepen…expand…overwhelm and suffocate him.

"_Hey you. I'm so glad you called. Becco sounds good. Let's make it 7:30 instead, okay? I have some things I need to finish. I can't -- it'll be nice to see you, too."_

His fingers tapped against the white clothed table top, nervous gaze searching the crowd entering the restaurant. Justin checked his watch. One minute to seven-thirty. Brow furrowed in concern, he double-checked his cell phone in case he'd missed any calls. No message icon awaiting, so he returned his gaze to the door.

Three years.

Three years since he'd left Brian behind.

He remembered the first year had been the hardest and easiest. They'd attempted a long distance semi-relationship. Calls and emails, and he'd gone home -- _back_ when he could.

But the more he had…the harder it had become to leave again. The more he saw what he missed, the more he ached. And, nine months after he'd left, on Thanksgiving, he'd made the decision to distance himself from everyone. Especially Brian. He'd turned to someone else.

And Brian had known. Brian had let him. Given him what he'd needed.

Like he always had.

Justin blocked out thoughts of his first showing, only real showing in the states. Blocked out the heartbreak he'd seen on Brian's face. The sorrow and sadness on everyone else's. He'd pushed them away, allowed them to move ahead with their lives. Told himself he didn't care when he received news about them from Molly or his mother. Ignored the jealousy when pictures reached him, letting him know he no longer belonged. Cursed that he still wanted to be there. Be a part of everything.

So he'd thrown himself into work. Making a name…going abroad to stretch his talent, to learn…to live and breathe. He'd been successful. He'd made a name of sorts. Money was steady. And yet, aside from Hannah and Ron, his life…remained empty and hollow.

Now, two years later, he would sit down with someone that would be more like a stranger to him than the love of his fucking life.

Shit. This was a bad idea.

The flitting thought of leaving crossed his mind and then he felt it. The tremor that ran through his body whenever he knew Brian was near. His eyes darted to the front, colliding with the tall frame at the door. He observed the practiced ease of his walk, smiling at his commanding presence. At the way eyes, male and female, seemed to gravitate in his direction.

Justin's heart seemed to skip a beat when, after asking the maitre d' a question, Brian's eyes locked with his, and, a drawn out moment later, he smiled at him.

Brian moved around tables and chairs gracefully, reaching the back of the restaurant in less than a minute. Justin rose from his seat, eyes unable to look away. They stood two feet from one another, soaking in the changes that were obvious and wondering about the ones that weren't. It happened in a flash and Justin realized he'd launched into Brian's arms. He felt like crying and laughing and yelling. He fucking hated and loved the world all at once.

It was Brian. His scent…the one of smoke, expensive musk and heated skin enveloped and invaded him. Underneath clothes and skin, he trembled, muscles reacting to nearness, remembering and yearning. His cock tightened, immediately hard and ready. He felt seventeen again, like that fucking kid who found everything in one man, on one night.

"Brian."

It was a whisper of sound only meant for his ears, the tone wanting and full. Saying everything he knew he wouldn't. He choked back a sob when Brian pulled him in tighter.

"Hi, Sunshine."

They must have stood that way for several long moments and Justin could feel stares. Could hear the soft muttering around them. Reluctantly, he pulled back and finally allowed his eyes to search that face he'd missed and craved. There were a few new wrinkles. A barely visible scar marred the skin above one eyebrow and Justin was curious to find out how it had gotten there. Brian's hair was lighter, skin tanned and tight, more pronounced muscle over arms and chest.

But the eyes…the eyes were the same. Deep hazel with gold specks. He knew they grew darker or lighter depending on Brian's mood. It felt right that he could still read them.

"You look great."

Brian grinned. "Of course I do."

And that was all it took…Justin felt the time and years wash away. He laughed, swatting at Brian's shoulder as he did. They sat down, ordering drinks and taking their time with the menu. The conversation was filled with questions about art, family, work. Justin laughed at Brian's re-telling of Emmett's newest sexual exploit, where he and Ted had ended up having to climb a scaffold to retrieve a cuffed and naked Emmett. (Justin ignored that niggling ache that told him he should have been there.) Brian mentioned Gus' birthday and how the family had flown up for the event. (Justin had sent his present since he'd been unable to attend.)

Justin told Brian about the small solo showings he'd had in Gloucester and Bristol. Shrugged about the shared showings in Paris and London. Talked down moderate success and how he'd been commissioned for some pieces. He paid no heed to the worried glance Brian had given him at the tone of his voice. Brian had laughed when he mentioned his trip to Bath, a mischievous glint gleamed, and Justin rolled his eyes.

"Not that kind of trip, Brian."

"Pity."

It had felt…as it should have. Like his world was in balance.

He mentioned Hannah and Ron. Told him stories about getting lost in a foreign country. About the time some townsfolk had wanted them to trade Ron for a goat and directions.

They'd passed two hours, telling stories, exchanging quips and anecdotes about their daily lives. All the time avoiding the elephant in the room that was Paul.

After some time Brian asked as casually as he could.

"And John? How is he?"

Justin speared a leftover green bean onto his fork, smirking at Brian as he placed it in his mouth, munching carefully before responding. It shouldn't have pleased him that Brian had felt the need for that bit of immaturity. But it did. "Paul. He's fine. Back in Paris."

Brian eyed him. "He's not coming for the show?"

"He'll be down for it, yes."

Brian paused, his mouth opening to comment but choosing to say nothing at the look Justin sent him. He cleared his throat and stared him directly in the eyes, something lurking in their depths.

"We need to talk, Justin." His hand reached under the table, into the briefcase at his side, pulling out a folder of paperwork. Brian's eyes betrayed his anxiety…and was that sadness? Resignation? He slid the papers across the table, his fingers brushing briefly against Justin's, sparks bursting into life blood and heat and senses.

"What is it?" Justin spoke thickly, controlling the twitch in his stomach and cock, eyes scanning the front page, halting at the words _estate sale _and _donation_. "Estate sale? I don't understand." His eyes bore into Brian's, confusion warring with unwanted realization.

"I'm selling…" Brian sighed softly before continuing. "I'm selling the house. It's being bought by a housing project foundation. They'll be turning it into a shelter for HIV/AIDS patients, teenagers, mothers." Brian smiled at him sadly. "The proceeds from the sale will be divided between ACET and The Vic Grassi Foundation."

Justin, shell-shocked, attempting to find his voice, could only stare from Brian to the papers in his hand. "The house?" He looked up. "Britin?"

Brian nodded. "Yeah." He looked away then, eyes focused out the window. "It just sits there. I never -- it's dark and useless, Justin." Sad eyes met his own, unspoken words within.

Justin swallowed the lump caught midway between his chest and throat. "I understand." The previous lightness of the evening evaporated and all that was left was what they had managed to avoid -- longing and grief. "We never lived there." He didn't allow the thought that he'd always wanted to believe one day they would. "It should be put to use."

Brian stared hard. "Yes. It should."

Justin looked away. "I have one question, though." When Brian nodded in encouragement, he continued. "What does it have to do with me?" He held up a hand before Brian could protest. "I mean, aside from, and this is what I'm assuming, you feeling you needed to get permission…why did you need to see me?" He knew the words were cruel, slightly cutting. "You could have said so over the phone."

Brian narrowed frustrated eyes at him. "No, I couldn't. I needed your permission _and _your signature." He flipped through a few pages, pausing and pointing at the copy of the deed.

Justin felt the shockwave hit him. He'd never known. "It was in my name?"

Brian shrugged, taking a long sip from his drink. "I bought it for you."

After a long silence, Justin rubbed clammy hands against his forehead. "So now…what? Do I just sign it over?" His fingers shook and he hid them in his lap. It hadn't really been a question. Eyes clashing with Brian's face, hands, anywhere but the hazel depths across from him. He needed to run, to escape before all the words he wanted…he needed to say tumbled out. And if they did, he knew they'd never stop.

"Yes." Reaching over again, Brian found the correct page, showing Justin where his signature was required.

Justin nodded woodenly. "Do you have a pen?"

He composed his features while Brian searched for one, and when the older man looked back at him, he knew there was no trace of emotion on his face. He signed with no flourish, easily, almost as an afterthought. The waiter approached and Justin asked for the check, skipping over dessert. His stomach was in no mood.

They sat in silence, Brian's eyes on Justin and Justin's on anyone but Brian. There was a quiet struggle for the check. After a few tugs, Justin yanked it out of the other man's grip. "Let me pay for the fucking dinner, Brian."

It looked as if he was going to argue, but after a long pause, Brian simply nodded.

Once the meal had been paid for, they walked out of the restaurant and into the chilly spring air together. Justin gestured at the cabs. "You want to ride together?" He clamped his lips tightly, tried not to smile at Brian's obvious reply.

"I always like it when we ride together."

They stared at one another and, leaning in closer, Justin grinned suddenly. Brian's eyes drifted down to his lips and back to up to meet Justin's blue gaze. He seemed dazed for several long beats but, suddenly breaking the momentary spell, Brian took a step back.

"Actually, it's only a few blocks to the hotel from here. I can walk."

Rejection didn't kill, Justin reminded himself. It only maimed. He nodded once. "Okay, I'll walk with you." He caught the surprise on Brian's face. "What?"

"I'm capable of making it back just fine, Sunshine."

The nickname sent warmth through Justin's body and he glanced over at Brian. "I know, but it's the gentlemanly thing to do. So, don't bitch about it." He started walking in the direction Brian had pointed, and, after a minute, he heard the sound of leather shoes on pavement, felt Brian's warmth at his side.

They moved together, their steps finding rhythm, their bodies flowing in time. Justin felt Brian begin to say something and change his mind several times. After the nth time, he stated quietly, "I think it's great what you're doing with the house, Brian."

There was no response and he gambled a glance, seeing the set jaw. "Still hate it when people point out your generosity?"

"It's the right thing to do. They needed it. I had it." Brian glanced at him. "It's not like I went looking for it. Or that I'm not getting anything out of it."

"Uh-huh."

"Free publicity for Kinnetik and a couple of million dollars tax write off."

"Right."

Brian ignored the tone and moved ahead. Justin bit back a groan, he could feel the anger surging through him. Heat and ache and want rolling inside. He was hard, had been all night, and Brian was inches away but he couldn't touch. It pissed him off and he commented with a shrug, throwing a barb, "Well, at least it was reason for you to come see me. That's something."

He felt a tight grip on his arm, felt as Brian pushed him into a nearby alley, shoved his back hard against the cold wall. The heat of warm skin, long lean body pressed into his own, and for one second all Justin could see was blackness. Heat and scent and need and goddamn it was too much to register. "Brian."

"Let's get one fucking thing straight. I didn't come here for the house. Fuck the house." Justin swallowed against the sensation Brian's hand gripping his hair shot through him. Moaning softly when he felt soft lips brushing against his cheek, down his neck. Hot breath caressing his awakened nerves. "I wanted to see you. I _needed_ to."

Justin clutched Brian's shirt in his hands, leaning back when the taller frame threatened to crush him. One leg came to rest between his thighs, pushing into his hardness and he let out a deep groan. "Jesus fucking…" He bit down on the string of pleas that were collecting in his mouth.

He felt Brian smile against his neck. "Not quite." One hand wrapped around his waist, the other still gripping the back of his head, tightened and Justin knew…fucking _knew_ the taste and feel of Brian's mouth before it crashed down hard on his. Remembered the texture, the warmth and just…

He parted swollen lips, allowing Brian's tongue to ravage and conquer. Justin's hands spread over firm chest, over shoulder, clutching. He rode Brian's knee with abandon. Brian's voice reached through the cloud of desire. "Come for me, Justin."

He wanted to let out a thrilled laugh when Brian gripped his ass, pulling him closer…so fucking close.

Waves of sensations swept over and through…the heat on his cock unbearable, and suddenly he felt a hand grip him, fast and furious. Justin's knees buckled and he felt Brian hold him, raise him. The pumping drove into him, sharp painful stabs…his eyes closed…feeling the tightening in his balls…the sound of his harsh pants…of Brian's, and then it hit him. Quick and hard and fierce.

He leaned against Brian, shuddering…the wetness leaking through…and he realized that his hand had found its way to grip Brian as well. An unconscious move born of familiarity. That his trembles were Brian's…his cries had been Brian's.

The blare of a car brought them back to reality. To the street and the chilly spring night. To the present where their lives were so separate it was difficult to imagine they'd ever been entwined.

Brian's forehead leaned against his and he wanted to cry at the despondent look he could see there. Reaching one hand up, Justin caressed his cheek.

"Fuck."

It would have been funny at some other point, if it had happened to other people. But it was their truth, and it was sad and wrong and damn…it just was. "I couldn't agree more."

Brian spoke tightly. "We can't, Sunshine."

"Why not?" It was a plea.

"Because I don't think either one of us could survive it."

He was right, of course. He was always right.

It wasn't their life anymore. No matter how much he wanted it to be. He belonged somewhere else. It was the choice he'd made. Brian was right. If this happened, if they touched, fucked, came together again, he would want it to go on. To never stop. Justin knew that wasn't possible. Life would tear at them. Half a life together would never work.

It was all or nothing.

Brian peeled back slowly, his eyes closed, and when he reopened them, there was moisture there. He lowered Justin slightly, taking back his warmth and taste and scent. Straightening clothes and hair, they let the silence fall between them. Adjusting their aching cocks, they cleaned up quickly, efficiently.

Justin reached up to brush strands back into place and caught the strained smile Brian sent him. He took a deep breath. "I think…I should go home. It's probably not a good idea to…" He gestured in the direction of the hotel.

They knew where they would end up.

Justin told himself that it would be a disaster. He ignored the pinch that called him a liar.

Brian shook his head. His face flushed, lips swollen, eyes dark and needy. "No. It isn't." He hailed a cab swiftly, and as it rolled to the curb, he turned to him. When it stopped, he pulled the door open, smiling sadly. "Gentlemanly thing."

Justin wanted to cry, to pound and scream, but it was their truth. The reality they lived in. He wanted to say all those words that ran through his mind at any one moment each day…but in the end, he couldn't. There was Paul…and his life. The one he pretended to want and enjoy. Paris and art and every fucked up thing that kept him away from Brian.

He pulled Brian into a hug, whispering in his ear. "Later."

Brian held onto his neck, thumb sweeping over the skin slowly before pulling away, eyes holding his. He leaned down, brushing a soft kiss on Justin's forehead before responding. "Later."

Justin held his gaze for a second longer and then slowly climbed into the backseat of the cab. Closing the door, he watched Brian's figure grow smaller and smaller. He felt tears come now, roll down his cheeks, and he wiped at his face. Pushed down, grief bubbled and then dissipated.

Justin waited for that sensation…that ache that followed. Instead, in its place was something that he hadn't felt in a long time. Burning inside was the tingle of knowledge…of knowing what he wanted. He'd tasted it tonight. Touched and felt and breathed it.

It was only a seed of hope…of belief. But it would grow and bloom. It would guide him where he belonged. A sad smile spread across his face, and he glanced back to where Brian still stood, now only a dot… and he knew, even if he hadn't realized it yet, wouldn't for some time, that he'd made the move he needed.

He had things to finish…to complete, but that little inkling inside told him everything.

Someday…he would be home. Where he belonged.


	8. A life left on pause

**A Life On Pause**

Daphne Chanders fell in love. All the time. Sometimes she would see the perfect silk top and couldn't rest until she had it. Or shoes. They could get her in serious trouble. Other times, it would be cities she'd visit and want to stay in forever. Most times, though, it was men. Beautiful, cocky (she always ignored the laugh in her head that sounded suspiciously like Justin's) asshole men.

It was one her most endearing and…according to her almost best friend-in-law, the fabulous Brian Kinney…most frustrating traits. Daphne knew it wouldn't have bothered him as much if she had one iota of good taste. It was unfortunate that she didn't. Her boyfriends (and she still laughs at the look on Brian's face when that word falls from his lips) were for shit. Brian knew this. Daphne knew this. Hell, the world knew this.

The worst part of it, in truth, was that Daphne always ended up broken-hearted, crying on the phone with Justin (ages ago, when things had been different)… or, as it happened in recent times, sitting on the floor in Brian's living room, taking shots of some unbelievably expensive liquor (that probably cost more than she made in two months), while Brian and whichever of the boys were available commiserated with her about her lack of boyfriend-picking skills.

It had been during one of those too frequent times that Brian had suggested she pace herself and perhaps take the time to find someone she could have a long-lasting relationship with. There had been a shocked silence in which she and Emmett had processed that _that _bit of wisdom had spewed forth from the Great God Kinney.

"Or you could fuck every cock available until your twat falls off. Whatever works best."

Emmett had fallen on the floor laughing. It was good to know that Brian hadn't changed that much.

That incredibly astute observation had been made only a few months earlier, and Daphne found that she wanted to go back to that moment and pay heed to what Brian had been trying to tell her.

"Too fucking late," Daphne muttered, her eyes staring out of the cab window as it rolled to a stop in front of a red brick, three floor walk-up in Soho. She glanced at the paper in her hand, Brian's messy handwriting reading _815 Franklin Street, _and, satisfied she had arrived at the correct place, got out of the cab. Paying quickly, she thanked her driver and hauled her carry-on bag onto her shoulder, stepping onto the sidewalk.

Daphne studied the tree-lined, obviously wealthy neighborhood, and for just a moment allowed a small bit of pride to seep through all the other emotions threatening to escape. Justin had done well. Really well. Her eyes came back to the building that now towered above her and, taking a deep breath, slowly ascended the stairs.

Her hand shook as she pressed the doorbell, waiting for some response and wondering how the hell Brian had managed to talk her into this…

"_Fuck." _

"_Yeah, thank you, Bri. That's helpful." _

_Brian's hand ran through his hair for what Daphne counted as the twelfth time in less than two minutes. "Well, Daph, I'm not about to tell you this was a brilliant move on your end." His voice softened when tears filled her eyes and he sat on the couch next to her, pulling her into a side hug. "That wasn't fair. I get you're scared." _

"_Scared." Daphne made a derisive noise, wiping away the wet streaks that had fallen down her cheeks. "I think terrified is more the word." Her head fell into her hands. "What the fuck do I do now, Brian?" _

"_I have no idea." _

"_Great." _

_Brian sighed, rubbing a hand down her back in comfort. "You need to talk to someone, Daphne." _

"_I'm talking to you." _

"_Ah-yeah. No. Someone who has the capacity to deal with this, because you know damn well I can't help you. I will support you. No problem. If you need something done, I will make sure it's done. I might even be able to - god help me - listen. But I can't talk you through this. I can't sit here and make plans and be sensitive and just…no. I haven't completely turned into a goddamn lesbian." _

_Daphne let out a soft laugh, despite the tumultuous emotion wreaking havoc inside her. She glanced at him sideways as she spoke. "I think you'd make a pretty hot muncher." _

"_Fuck you, Chanders." _

_They fell into silence, both absorbing what was happening and needing time to process it. Daphne sensed the moment Brian had an idea - probably a brilliant one knowing the bastard - and, at his prolonged silence, knew instinctively what he was going to say. So when the name found his lips, she half-smiled, because that was still where Brian found comfort. _

"_Justin." _

_She started to shake her head, but his hand on her shoulder made her stop and glance up. The look he gave her was classic Kinney intimidation and she almost laughed at him. "It's not going to work, Brian. I can't call him." _

"_Why not?" _

"_Because we haven't really talked in years. Mostly bullshit chit-chat." _

"_This is the icebreaker you need." _

"_I don't need an icebreaker, Brian. I have no desire to speak with Justin about certain things." _

"_Please." Brian rolled his eyes, arms crossing, and stared at her intensely. _

_Daphne blinked at him. "Brian." _

"_Stop being so pissed off at him."_

"_I'm not -"_

"_Like hell you aren't! He didn't leave you, Daphne." She could hear the silent 'He left me' that went unspoken and touched his hand gently. _

_Brian's voice was filled with something raw when he spoke again. _

"_He only did what he had to do to survive. You know that." _

_Daphne did know that. She understood that Justin had gone into self-preservation mode and his distance was more about him than it was about the ones he loved. But it still didn't make it right, and nothing anyone said, not even herself, would make it hurt any less. _

"_I'm not saying he shouldn't have dealt with it differently. He should have. Not that I should be talking about how to fucking deal. But, the point is, he didn't. We can't hold it against him forever. And he has been trying, hasn't he?"_

_He had been trying. Daphne had received more messages from Justin in the last two months than she had in the last two years. She glanced at Brian, the suspicion that his recent trip to New York had something to do with Justin's reemergence in their lives solidifying. Sighing, she shrugged as an answer. _

_Brian nodded. "You need to talk to him. Go see him."_

"_You're just trying to get us back together so that you don't have to deal with my dramatics. I know your mind, Kinney." _

_Brian grinned. "Damn right." He sobered up and said quietly, "You need your best friend, Daphne." _

"_You're my best friend, too." _

_He scowled her way, not quite hiding the light in his eyes when he did. "Nice try. You need Justin."_

She very much did.

After much debate, where they ultimately always ended up in an argument, Brian had simply bought her a first class ticket, driven her to the airport and, hugging her hard, he'd reminded her that Justin was enough of a smartass to keep up with her and had enough estrogen to talk her through this.

"_Is that why you love him so? Smartass? Estrogen?"_

"_Who the fuck said I loved him?" Brian had given her his patented one eyebrow indifference stare before saying, "I put up with him because he gives one hell of a fucking blowjob."_

She reassured Brian he had no need to worry he was becoming a dyke.

And now here she was. Popping in on her "best friend" without any warning and throwing his life into disarray - oh fuck that. It was what he got for abandoning her. Angry now, she rang the bell, holding the button longer than necessary before letting go.

The buzz of the intercom made her jump and she heard a familiar voice say, "About fucking time, Hannah. I was running out of brown." Daphne was about to speak when the door seemed to vibrate slightly and she realized she was being let in. Pushing against it, she adjusted her bag and entered, stopping dead once inside.

She stood in the foyer, staring in awe at the painting that hung opposite the entryway. A canvas of brown and gold, specks of green accenting the hard strokes of black. What caught her attention was the swirl of yellow and blue tendrils that blending into the other colors.

"Oh wow."

Tears formed and she brushed them away, her steps less angry now that she had seen what Justin wanted. What he obviously needed. What he seemed to be denying himself. She wasn't sure why she climbed the stairs all the way to the top. Some instinct telling her that would be where, logically, Justin would put his studio. The door stood partially open, probably left that way by the grand artiste himself.

She dropped her bag by the door, catching sight of Justin in front of his newest bit of genius. He swayed to the music of his art, his inspiration, and it unnerved her to sense his surrender to the piece being created. It was what she had envied the most about him. His ability to turn nothing - a blank square of fabric - into something beautiful, meaningful.

Her gaze scanned the other canvases that lined the wall, all done in shades of gold and brown…swirls of red and blue…yellow and green. They were telling a story, that much was clear. Daphne wasn't sure exactly what that was. But she knew that it was about Brian. Justin's art was always about Brian. Just as she knew that Brian's silences were always about Justin.

She cleared her throat. "Can't you ever paint about someone else?"

Justin jumped at her voice, spinning around with wide blue eyes. His shocked expression breaking into a wide grin at confirming it was her. Before Daphne knew what was happening, Justin had run across the expanse of his loft, crushing her in a hug. She smothered a squeal when she was lifted off her feet.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!"

Daphne mumbled into his shoulder. "Oh, you know, I was in the neighborhood."

Justin chuckled, pulling away from her. "Well, yeah. Of course. It's only about five fucking hours and several hundred miles between here and the Pitts."

Daphne shrugged. "Less than two hours on a plane. In first class, it goes by like that." She snapped her fingers for emphasis.

"Aha. Are you a Kinney gift, then?"

Daphne laughed softly. "You could say that."

He squeezed her tightly again. "I missed you, Daph." He pulled back to look at her.

Staring into his soft blue eyes, she forgot her anger and felt the tears start. "Me, too."

* * *

"What did your parents say?"

Daphne stiffened, refusing to think of that argument. "They weren't happy, to say the least. They said it was my mistake, and they wouldn't support me if I didn't fix it."

Justin ran a hand through his hair. "That doesn't surprise me. What about your boyfriend?"

"Not a part of my life anymore."

"Does he know?"

"Of course he knows."

"And he just left?"

Daphne took a sip of the tea Justin had made them both shortly after she'd dropped the news. "It's what he does best, Justin." She cringed when he jumped up from his seat.

"Who is it?" Justin paced the floor in front of her, hands balled into fists. "What's his name?"

"Oh my god." Daphne gently placed her tea on the table, shaking her head. "Not you, too."

"What?" Justin stared at her.

"That was exactly what Brian said when I told him. He, and I quote, 'was going to gather up a fucking posse and kick some fucking hetero ass,' so please just take it easy."

"Take it easy?"

Daphne nodded. "Yes. Take it easy. I'm pregnant. I don't have some incurable disease." She patted the seat next to her. "Don't worry about who it was."

"He left you! With…child!"

"Oh, Jesus. You really are a fucking queen. It'll be okay, Jus."

He sat on the spot she had indicated and glanced at her. "So, you're…going to…"

"Keep it." Daphne surprised herself at the response. She'd known that, unconsciously had made her decision when she'd first found out, but talking with Justin had solidified it. Goddamn Brian. He was always right. "I want the baby. It's my baby."

"Are you sure about this, Daph? It's not going to be a fucking walk in the park."

"It might be, if we're talking Central Park."

He placed an arm around her shoulder, bringing her in closer. "I'm serious, Daph. What are you going to do about school?"

"I can put school off for a year. After the baby is born, I'll go back. I'm sure Brian's already making arrangements so that I can afford it, even though-"

"Even though you told him not to. Yeah. That's Brian for you." She felt Justin's smile in her hair and bit back her own.

"Yeah, it is. He's…something." She smiled up at him. "If I've got him in my corner, then I'm good.

Justin smiled sadly. "Yes, you are." He squeezed her shoulder. "You've got both of us, okay?"

It was like the years they'd spent apart had never been, and she found, in the man next to her, the boy she had grown up with.

"Thank you."

* * *

"What are you naming the baby?" Hannah asked, through a mouthful of white rice and garlic chicken.

"Don't say 'Staci' with an 'i,' because I'm going have to ask you to leave," Justin replied, pointing at her with his chopsticks.

"Please," Daphne sneered at him, insulted. "Contrary to popular belief, I have better taste than that."

"Oh, I know. Donna!" Ron exclaimed, then immediately changed his mind. "Gloria! No, no, Gladys! Diana!"

"She's not having a fucking disco queen, Ron!"

Daphne laughed softly, reminded of her "adopted" family of sorts and the constant yet loving bickering. She watched Justin interact with his two friends and felt the tiniest bit of jealousy run through her. It was the way it would always be. A part of her would think of him as hers. But she liked Hannah and Ron. They seemed sweet and funny. She was glad Justin had found something to replace what she knew, without a doubt, he was missing. The boys, Debbie, his mom and Molly, herself…Brian.

There had been no mention of Paul since her arrival, and having been his best friend for over a decade (sans the last two years), she knew there wouldn't be. Not right now. Maybe as they talked more, and she knew they would, he'd open up and let her in. She thought of Brian and his assurances about Justin and chuckled. He was impossible when he was right.

"What's so funny?" Justin asked with a smile.

Daphne saw they were all staring at her curiously and she shook her head. "Oh, nothing. I was just thinking I hate it when Brian gets to be all smug and know-it-all."

Justin smirked. "That's the way he always is."

"Very true."

"Is that why you're so crazy about him, Justin?" Hannah asked, slyly.

Justin raised an eyebrow. "Did I say that? I only tolerated Brian because he gives one hell of a -" Justin cut off at Daphne's choked laughter, staring at her. "What?"

"Nothing," she croaked out, waving in his direction as she tried to regain her composure. "You two are fucking made for each other." Justin's face crumpled slightly and he returned to his food, ignoring her statement while changing the subject.

Yeah, she thought as she rolled her eyes, made for each other.

Some time later, they were gathered in Justin's living room, bottle of wine - and water for Daphne - on the table, each recounting embarrassing stories about Justin, when Hannah asked a question Daphne could tell she had been dying to.

"Daphne, is Brian as good-looking as Justin sketches him or is it just his artistic liberties?"

"Haven't you seen a picture of him?"

"No." Ron answered. "Justin doesn't have any."

Her confused gaze fell to Justin, jaw tense and eyes avoiding hers. It took a full minute to truly understand what that meant. How far Justin had to go to be able to function without Brian. If he couldn't see him, it wouldn't hurt. Daphne closed her eyes for a moment. They could be so alike it was scary.

"Oh!" Her eyes flew open and she ran to her carry-on, remembering the package Molly had given her. "Wait, I think I have something." She rummaged inside until she found it, walking back and handing it to Justin. "Open it, but read the letter later. I think she sent some pictures for you."

Hannah and Ron scrambled to the empty space on the other side of Justin, and Daphne perched on the arm of the couch. They all watched Justin slowly open the flap of the photo album and gasp at the first picture. It contained a beautiful, grinning red-head, arms thrown around the neck of who, Daphne knew, was the most gorgeous man any of them had seen. She pointed at the picture, indicating the two people. "That's Molly, Justin's little sister, and…that's Brian."

Ron snatched the picture from under the plastic, ignoring Justin's death glare, mouth gaping open. He tilted it so Hannah could get a better look, and they both stuttered.

"Wow. I mean…wow. You're an artistic god, Justin, but…you did him no justice."

"He's fucking beautiful."

Daphne smiled. "Yes, he is." She watched as Justin flipped through the pages of the album, pausing at any picture with Brian. His eyes were glassy as he made his way through their latest family event.

"Was this recent?"

"Yeah. It was Blake's birthday, and we threw a little party at Deb's." He seemed to go more quickly now, and she imagined it was hard to see life go on without you. She could understand that, no matter how much she wanted to point out that it had been his own choice, so she let him proceed any way he wanted.

Then it happened.

She hadn't even thought of it. He was such a part of their circle, their lives, that it had never occurred to her that he would stand out to Justin. She was sure he had passed several group shots and not said a word. But this one was different.

Justin had stopped, staring at the picture of Brian with Jen on one side and on the other, what she now realized was for him, a handsome but complete stranger. His hand was around Brian's waist, and they had been caught in the middle of some joke, their faces grinning. To her, it was a lovely image… to see Brian smile. He rarely did so. But, as she glanced at Justin, she knew it meant something completely different to him.

There was a tremble in Justin's voice when he asked, "Who is that?"

Hannah and Ron leaned over to take a look. Daphne cleared her throat. "That's Greg. Greg Black. He's a good friend of Carl and Ben…well, actually he's a good friend of everyone now, but we met him through Carl and Ben." Her eyes studied Justin's grim face, his jaw stiff and eyes hard. "Um…he's one of Brian's newest clients. He's trying to run for Chief of Police."

Justin's eyes widened slightly. "He's a cop?"

Daphne nodded. "Yes. He's one of the good ones."

Hannah shook her head. "Wait. Running for Chief of Police? I thought that someone just got appointed to that position. I mean, like an employee or something."

"In some states, they can appoint _and_ elect a Chief of Police. Pittsburgh's state council passed a law a few years ago that any new Chief of Police was to be elected by the citizens. We had a problem with a former officer in that position."

Justin snorted. "That's a fucking understatement." He continued to stare at the picture. "So, Greg's…"

"Gay? Yeah." Daphne bit back a grin. "That's why he went to Brian for help with his campaign."

Justin raised an eyebrow. "I see."

"He needed someone who understood what the obstacles would be and who had done it before."

He flipped the page quickly and, when he caught a glimpse of the one that followed, his hands tightened on the book. Daphne's almost smile fell at that look on Greg's face. He had been caught staring at an oblivious Brian with such adoration it made Daphne's stomach clench. That wasn't good. Why the hell had Molly put that picture into the album?

Justin placed the album on the table and got up from the couch, reaching for a cigarette from his pocket. "I'll be back." His steps were heavy in the silence, and the other three jumped at the sound of the slamming door that followed his exit.

She glanced around at Ron and Hannah. "Well, shit."

* * *

"About fucking time."

Daphne chuckled. "Hello to you, too."

"What the hell took you so long?"

"I'm sorry, _Mother_. Were you worried?" She glanced out of the glass doors that separated her from Justin. He'd been out on the balcony for an hour, brooding about what she could only guess had never occurred to him before.

"No. It would have just been polite to call and at least leave a message. You know, something like, 'Hey Brian. My plane didn't crash, I haven't been mugged…I'm alive and well and have reached my destination.' It's just good manners is all."

Daphne snorted. "I'm sorry, I forgot I was talking to Mr. Propriety."

"I'm fucking Miss Manners compared to you." Brian paused for a beat, then asked, "How's the princess doing?"

"He's having a moment."

She heard the concern in his voice when he spoke again. "What happened?"

Daphne ran one hand through her curly hair. "Molly sent him some pictures."

"O-kay. Were they evil, killer pictures?"

"They were pictures of the last party we had." Daphne wasn't sure if she should go into details. Greg's feelings for Brian weren't a secret, but it was one of those elephants in the room no one spoke of. She knew Brian had to know but chose to ignore it. It wasn't her place to bring it up, especially now, but she made a mental note to visit Miss Molly when she got back to the Pitts and interrogate the little minx on what the hell had possessed her to add that picture to the album.

Daphne had a pretty damn good idea what her answer would be, and if she was right, then she couldn't blame the kid.

"Daphne?"

"Yeah, sorry. I think he just felt…left out."

"Left out?"

"Brian, it's one thing to leave and know that the people you love will move on without you, share their lives without you…and something entirely different to see it.

"Oh." Brian cleared his throat. "Can I talk to him?"

"What exactly are you going to say? Are you going to ask him to come home? To forget all this bullshit? Tell him you love him and need him? 'Cause unless that's what you're about to do, it's not such a good idea. It'll only hurt more."

"You know I can't - I won't do that to him, Daph. He needs to build his life. To choose his own path." Brian's voice was flat, the words automatic, never from the heart. Never what he truly felt, but what he believed Justin needed.

"How the fuck you two have survived so far is beyond me!" She knew her hormones were at work, but _goddamn it!_ She was tired of Brian's sadness. He was better now than when… but it was still there. And, looking at Justin, she knew, just _fucking knew_ that he wasn't where he needed to be.

Sighing, she ran one hand over her face. "I'm sorry."

"If I thought… He has a life, Daphne. I can't ask him to give that up."

"So, you give up yours instead?" Brian's silence was her answer, and she wanted to cry at the depth of despair she sensed in him at that moment. "Don't let anyone ever tell you, Brian Kinney, that you don't know how to fucking love someone." The door opened behind her, and she glanced at Justin as he entered. He smiled woodenly her way, disappearing down a long hallway, but she knew he would be back soon. "I think the princess is ready to talk. I've got to go."

"Tell him --"

Daphne waited, knowing what Brian wanted to say and also knowing he wouldn't. "I'll tell him you said hello."

"Right."

"Hey, Brian?"

"What?" There it was. That crack in the controlled voice that could undo her…or anyone who knew Brian well enough.

"I love you, my friend."

One beat.

"Of course, that's 'cause I'm your fag hag. It's part of the job." His laugh made her smile, and she heard his breath come out slowly. She knew he hated when she did that.

"Best fucking fag hag I ever had."

"Only fucking fag hag you've ever had."

"Shut up, Daph. Take the princess out to sightsee. Don't let him get too…him."

"You got it."

"Oh, and Daph? Thanks."

Then a click and the call ended, the blaring quiet of nothing in her ear.

Justin reentered the room, eyes trying to hide hope and longing. "How is he?"

"He's Brian."

Justin nodded. "Always."

She gestured to the phone. "He said hey." She caught the rueful smile and quick shake of his head. And in his eyes, flickering by in a heartbeat, there was regret. It was the straw that broke the self-proclaimed fag hag's back. "How long is this going to go on, Jus?"

Trained blank stare of blue was aimed her way, and the anger she'd thought had dissipated burst in a red-colored rage.

"Don't fucking insult me by pretending you have no clue what I'm talking about!"

"Don't yell at me, Daphne."

"Don't yell? Don't yell!! You're lucky I don't rip your balls off, you little shit!" She caught movement from her peripheral and knew that Hannah and Ron had retreated to safety. It was all the better. She was in the mood to take away essential body parts, apparently. "You left me. You left us. The family…your mom and Molly…Brian. Barely half a dozen calls in two years? What the hell did you think was going to happen? Did you think we'd just hit the pause button?"

Justin's head fell, eyes hiding from her assault, muttering quietly, "No." Then, at her angry glare he added, "Maybe a little."

Daphne threw her hands in the air. "Then you're a goddamn moron." Her eyes followed his path from the center of the room, to stare at the wall, to the ceiling windows. "It doesn't work like that, Justin. We had lives to live, too."

"I know that."

Her eyes stared a hole into his back, arms folding across her chest, and through clenched teeth she threw a jab she knew would hurt. "He's different, you know. You made him different." He was alert now and she continued. "You made him a better man, Justin. Made him change, and when you left, when you _really _left us…he couldn't change back."

"He tried…?"

"Of course, he tried. He's Brian. For a few weeks, he gave it his best shot. It would have been amusing if the whole thing hadn't reeked of heartache and desperation. Then, I don't know, it was like something shifted and it was different. Maybe he figured he had to make it worth letting…whatever it was. He was still him. Still an asshole to the world. But to us…he was something more."

Justin nodded, his back to her still. "He opened up."

Daphne shrugged. "As much as he could, I guess. Mostly, he became a part of our lives and we became a part of his. Don't get me wrong, he still has the habit of saying the right thing at the wrong time and so forth. But…it's different. It's done with…"

"Love."

"Yeah. And it was you that made it possible." Knowing he wasn't going to leave his position, she took a seat on the nearest chair and stared at the marble floor. "Someone was bound to notice him." She sensed him stiffen behind her but didn't glance his way. "He's beautiful, Justin. Inside and out. It was only a matter of time. It's not fair, that you get to have somebody and he doesn't."

"And this _Greg_ noticed?"

Daphne snorted. "From day number one." Her fingers played with each other, the tick an old habit she'd tried to get rid of. "You want to know the worst part?"

"Not really."

She ignored him. "Brian doesn't look at him. Not even for a minute."

"Not even in his patented Kinney way?"

"Nope. Greg is a friend. Period." Daphne stood then, joining Justin, staring at the visible skyline as she continued. "He's still in love with you. And I know you're still in love with him, if the irrational jealousy over a stupid picture is to be believed."

He rubbed his eyes with one hand. "I don't know what the fuck to do."

"Then you're not ready," Daphne said, sagely. "When you are, you'll know. It won't even require thinking about." She wrapped one arm around his and leaned her head on his shoulder. "The thing is, Jus, that all this has been in vain, hasn't it? Yeah, you got your career and that's worth a lot. And you have lovely friends….and Paul." There was a grimace across his face then. "Whatever that may be. But…you're not happy."

"I'm…content."

"That's not good enough and you know it. You've tasted fucking bliss, Justin. You shouldn't settle."

"Daph…"

"I know, your life, shut the fuck up and stay the hell out of it."

Justin eyed her, lips quirking in a soft smile. "Brian has trained you well."

She made a noise that sounded very much like a snort. "He likes to think he has."

"You still mad at me?" He gave her shoulder a playful shove and smiled when she stuck her tongue out at him.

"I am still very mad at you. But you'll make it up to me with much food and dri--fuck! Well, much food will have to do."

He kissed the side of her head as he leaned his against it. "I missed you, Daph."

"Yeah, well. I'm here now. Tomorrow, we'll go sightseeing and shopping…don't you dare scoff…and you can interrogate me about…things back _there_." There was a quick punch to her shoulder and she smiled. 'And, when you're ready…" She pulled back, pinning his gaze with hers. "You'll come home."

His eyes grew soft, emotions swirling uncontrollably in their depths. "I still don't know when that will be, Daph. If ever."

"I know. It doesn't matter. When you do…we'll be waiting."

"Promise?"

Her soft response resounded in the loft. "Promise."


	9. Place where you belong

**The place that you belong**

Justin had always assumed that when you looked at an object or a person or a situation that would change your life, you'd know it. You'd sense it. And it would be… powerful. At least, that had been his experience. It was how he always knew he was looking at it.

It was what he expected.

Sometimes he forgot he _didn't_ know it all.

It arrived in a plain, brown box.

Justin had expected something more. It was Molly, for Christ's sakes. She had been calling him on a daily basis… asking if her package had arrived, reminding him that when it did he was to call her immediately, and driving him insane all around with her excitement to hear his reaction.

So, he was sure when it arrived, there would be trumpets, colorful banners, some accompanying background music straight out of Babylon. When Hannah handed him the fairly small package, he'd looked at her blankly.

"It's what you've been waiting for, Justin."

Justin had blinked a few times. "Huh?"

Hannah rolled her eyes. "Your birthday present from Molly. Hello? You've assaulted me every time I come back from the post office, asking about it." She shook her head as she walked away, muttering something about insanity and artists.

Justin stared at the box in his hands, slowly shaking it and hearing a muted clicking noise. He pushed away the disappointment. I mean, he'd had no idea what Molly had sent, but this was… strange. His sister was, from what little he knew of her (and that thought made him sad), loud and bright and large. Those things he had been at her age but more.

He knew little else about her but that. And those things he'd learned from others.

Molly had been eight years old when he'd left home, and at that age, at that time, she was an annoying little shit. He supposed all eight-year-olds were that way to their teenage siblings. And he hated to admit it, but… he hadn't missed her much at first. Sometimes, if he thought about it, he would feel a twinge of something, but mostly he'd been involved in his own problems, in himself.

He felt guilt about that, even though he knew that it had been unavoidable. Teenagers were selfish little assholes by definition. He had been no exception at times. And the fact that there was an age gap of nine years between him and Molly… that hadn't helped.

It wasn't until after he'd moved to New York that he had begun to understand the little sister he left behind. Her letters started to arrive a week after he'd settled into the hovel that had been his first apartment, his own little studio. It had taken him a year of struggling to be able to afford it. He'd ducked his head and worked steadily. He'd avoided almost all contact with everyone… it was easier for him that way… so the letter had been a surprise. It was full of life and snark and scary intelligence he thought no fourteen-year-old should possess. Her personality shone forth from every line, and he imagined that she was what a young Debbie must have been like.

Letters weren't enough to know her, though they helped. Most times, he felt like an outsider looking in through the glass of a life… that should have been his. And Molly was the glass he was staring through. Her confidence in who she was and her place in the world reminded him of the person he had once been.

Of the person he was now finding again.

The first time she'd mentioned Brian, he'd re-read the lines ten times. It came about six months after her first letter… a year and a half into his self-imposed exile from the Pitts and… from Brian. His name had been a word among a hundred others, but it was the first one his eyes had found when he unfolded the piece of paper. She'd repeated a joke Brian told her at dinner, and there was a sharp pang deep inside Justin.

Molly had dinner with Brian. Molly told Brian her problems. Brian protected Molly against Craig. Brian started to help pay for Molly's dance classes.

It was irrational to be jealous of Brian and Molly at the same time, but he was.

But, after some time, he found the letters became his connection to the life he left behind and missed. He looked forward to the stories Molly told, to her honesty and startling humor, even to the digs she took at him for his silence. Justin had almost choked more than once at her descriptions of life around her. Detailed and in your face. That was her motto.

And the first time she'd called, he'd nearly wanted to run home again. Molly had the uncanny ability to make life in the Pitts seem like fucking heaven. Her adventures -- or, rather, misadventures -- never failed to make him laugh. She'd give him advice (that he never asked for) on what to wear, where to go, and who to fuck. Or, in his case, who not to. It was insane.

In getting to know his sister, as much as he knew her, anyway, there was one thing Justin was sure of.

She should have been born a gay man.

But two in the family would have been too much, so he figured whatever higher deity made those kinds of decisions had sent Molly instead.

And he was damn happy for it. Even if he never admitted it.

Shaking his head, Justin pulled himself back into the present, ripping open the brown paper of the package. Walking to the living area of his studio, he picked up his phone with one hand while he used the other to unwrap the rest of the present. Pressing the speed dial button for Molly, he waited until he heard her voice before setting the box on the coffee table and taking a seat.

"Hello, big brother."

Justin grinned. "Mollusk."

He imagined her nose scrunching at the nickname. "Really, Justin. Must you? I don't go around calling you _Sunshine_, do I?" Her laugh came over the line. "I figure you don't like that… unless it's coming from Brian and you all are in the middle of a fu--"

"Molly!"

"What?! How do you know what I was going to say? It could have been all good, clean fun. Jeez, Justin. You have a very naughty mind." He sensed the grin on her face. "I don't know where you get it from."

"I'm ignoring that and letting you know that your long-awaited, not to mention anticipated package has arrived."

"Really? Finally! Did you open it yet?"

"Um… no. Wasn't I threatened, on pain of disembowelment, that I was not to open said package until I had cleared it with you?"

"Damn right." Molly lowered her voice jokingly. "Okay, Jim. This is your mission, should you choose to accept it. Take what's inside the package, a bottle of your favorite alcohol, some junk food and your fag hag… better known as the fabulous Hannah… Oh! And Ronald, too. And set to enjoying it."

Justin chuckled, pulling a small case with a disc from the inside of the package. He stared at it for a long moment. "Okay…"

Molly sighed. "I don't have to tell you to call me when you're done. Later, _Sunshine_."

Two hours, a couple of phone calls, and a bag of popcorn later, Justin slid the homemade DVD Molly had sent into his DVD player and flopped down between Ron and Hannah on the soft leather couch in his loft.

"So, what is this exactly?" Ron asked, delicately munching on a few popcorn kernels.

"I have no clue." Justin shrugged, pushing the play button on the remote, and hearing the whirring of the machine, he leaned back into the cushions, eyes focused on the flat screen of the television. "All I know is that Molly says she's been working on this for a while now."

"That makes me nervous somehow," Hannah joked… kind of.

Whatever retort Ron was going to produce was stopped at the sound coming from the television, and three pairs of eyes focused on the red-haired girl -- woman really -- on the screen. She grinned out at them, waving a hand as she spoke.

"Hey guys! If you can see this, then, well, my fucking Movie Maker actually worked, and all the sweat and tears and Hunter's whining was definitely worth it."

"I never whined." The voice was clear, even though the body it emanated from couldn't be seen.

Molly rolled her eyes, and Hannah laughed at how similar to Justin that was.

"Whatever," Molly continued, blue eyes shining out to them. "I hate introductions that take fucking forever, so I'll make this short and sweet. Basically, for the last year, Hunter and I have taken turns, with Brian's handy little digital camera, recording… life, I guess." Molly smiled at them. "It was the only present I thought you'd appreciate. So, well, from both of us." She made a quick gesture at them and the camera veered suddenly, Hunter's face peering at them as he waved, and then veering back to Molly once again. "Here's a year in the life…" She paused, thoughtful, and looking almost stricken, she shook her head. "No. Let's be honest. I call this A Year in a Life Unlived."

Justin swallowed at that. Before he could make a comment, the screen went dark and then lit up again, showing the inside of Debbie's house, filled to capacity with the whole gang. Hannah blinked a few times as she stared. "Jesus. How many of you guys are there?"

Ron snorted, then paused, leaning forward when he caught sight of Ben. "Damn. He's hot." Brian cut across the screen and Ron smirked. "Damn. He's hot, too." Less than ten seconds later, the camera caught Brian holding Gus, smiling at something his son was saying, and Justin glanced at Ron when he sighed. "As if he couldn't get any more fucking appealing."

Hannah crossed her legs, glancing over at Justin. "Okay, is this someone's birthday or something?" She studied the screen. "I don't see any holiday decorations, so I'm thinking it has to be that, right?"

Justin stared, shaking his head, noting there was no handmade banner or balloons. "Nope. Just Sunday dinner." His eyes followed Brian as he sat next to Carl, leaning in to speak softly, and whatever he said caused Carl to roar a laugh. It caused a stirring in Justin's stomach… the closeness Brian seemed to have with those around him. Something he hadn't been there to watch happen.

The camera moved away and Justin choked back the whimper that threatened to leave. He wanted to look at Brian. If he could look at him, that gaping ache inside him seemed to ease. Even if only a little.

The camera would leave and come back in intervals, always a bit later than before, and Justin smiled at Michael and Emmett's drunken debate over who was hotter, Johnny Depp or Orlando Bloom. The camera switched to show Brian and Ted rolling their eyes and exchanging a quiet look of frustration while Ben smiled softly from the sidelines. Ron applauded when Emmett threw himself onto Brian's lap during his dramatic recreation of the latest fight between Paris Hilton and Lindsey Lohan. Mel and Lindsey made out for the camera and Ron made a gagging noise. Justin couldn't agree more.

However, it was the little moments that killed Justin on the inside.

"Come on, Ben," Michael giggled, pulling at his husband's arm. "Outside." And Justin smiled as the camera switched to Brian.

"You and the Professor have a kink I don't know about, Mikey?" Brian smirked as he lit up, meeting Mel's stare and grinning, passing her the toke. The camera caught her quick glance at Lindsey across the room. Grabbing Brian's offering, she took a deep inhale and handed it back. Brian chuckled and looked over at Ben's loud groan.

"Michael."

"Come. Faster."

Emmett started to giggle, and Brian mumbled into his hand, "Christ. Now I know what a Saturday night at the Novotny-Bruckner estate sounds like."

Justin laughed when Debbie pinched Brian's cheek on her way into the kitchen, saying, "Be nice," and he pursed his lips inward, muttering curses. Justin could see how Brian's eyes lit up at it, though, and he curled his hand into a fist to resist the urge to touch the screen.

Justin and Ron roared, while Hannah covered her eyes in embarrassment, at the impromptu dance between Molly and Emmett, ridiculous and perfect like only they could manage. Justin missed them all the more when the others, except for Brian, Carl, and Mel, joined them. Brian gave Ted a death glare when he attempted to haul him up to dance.

Hannah started to laugh. "God, they make the mundane interesting, don't they?"

Justin simply nodded.

It was coming to a close, it seemed, with coats being thrown on, dishes stacked and taken into the kitchen, quiet conversations being had on the couch. Molly, Brian and Gus sat on the floor, packing up the toys and games spread across it. The camera seemed to float over and around them, allowing Justin a peek at them all.

"Okay, everyone." All heads turned to the camera and Hunter's voice. "It's time to say hello to Justin."

A dozen voices yelled out variations of his name, calling out greetings to Sunshine and telling him to visit. Debbie threw kisses at the screen. Emmett scolded him for not calling. Ted simply waved, eyes flicking over to where Justin imagined Brian sat with his sister and Gus. Jen grinned at the screen, but the shine in her eyes couldn't be missed.

The camera swiveled to show Gus waving, calling out his name, and suddenly from nowhere anyone expected, he said, "Come home, Jussy!" It was almost missed in the cacophony of other noises, but Brian's flinch was so visible, Justin was sure he heard right.

In the next two hours, Ron, Hannah and Justin laughed so hard they cried and thoroughly enjoyed themselves. Karaoke night had been Ron's favorite. He'd about fallen off the couch laughing at Emmett and Michael's rendition of Gloria Gaynor's "I Will Survive." Molly had pumped her hands over her head… (Justin didn't even _want_ to know how she had managed to get into Woody's)… bumping her shoulder against Brian, who gulped down his beers as fast as humanly possible. Ben had patted his hand soothingly.

Christmas had been eventful, between Gus' tantrum when he was told that Justin wouldn't be there again that year (and Justin had ignored the looks from Ron and Hannah, and his own sharp pain, when that happened), to Mel and Lindsey's requisite fight, to Emmett's queen out at finding his boyfriend, Matt, with Ted's date, Miles.

Justin had enjoyed the smirk that Blake had exchanged with Brian. Ron had laughed when Ben handed Hunter twenty dollars as he passed him by.

Whoever held the camera at any given moment seemed to know exactly where to aim it, Justin thought, smiling. Enough time with those people and you knew where to look for entertainment.

Then there was Blake and Ted's disappearance and Trevor's (Hunter's boyfriend) red face and stuttered explanation when he came down the stairs to tell them he'd found them… They were busy. His eyebrows had wiggled comically (and Justin was sure it hadn't been on purpose), and he'd smiled shyly at the screen.

But when it was done, it was the quiet moments between them, while opening presents and exchanging good wishes, that tugged at Justin's lonely heart. He wanted to be the one to wrap an arm around Brian's shoulder and kiss his cheek (well, more than that…). Instead, he watched as Molly did it, followed by Jen and Debbie.

Those moments shown as excerpts of the life he missed were what made Justin want to run from the room.

But they passed and it moved on to other celebrations, parties, or sometimes just quick moments at the diner, the loft, Debbie's, even his Mom's house. They all made him long to be there. With them. With Brian. Even though Justin understood it couldn't be that easy. He'd worked so hard to separate himself. Going back would be harder still.

Molly had managed to record Debbie's birthday, which had ended in a warning call from the police, much to poor Carl's chagrin. Justin's favorite part had been Molly managing to convince Brian to dance with Debbie, which he had until Carl had saved him. Justin had laughed at the look of relief on his face then. It had made Debbie happy, though, and even if it caused Justin a momentary sense of panic, it passed, and he had warmed at the look Debbie had given Brian.

His least favorite part had come immediately after. Brian had been standing next to Jen, grinning at his mother's enthusiastic retelling of something he couldn't hear. Then, suddenly Brian was hugged from behind, and for one second Justin saw the frozen look on Brian's face before it broke into a grin. He'd turned and returned the hug. Jen's face was schooled into a look of welcome, but Justin caught the quick flash of worry in her eyes.

Justin recognized who it was from pictures he'd seen, and that flare of hate that he now associated with the man ran through him.

Hannah sat up straighter. "Who the hell is that?"

Justin muttered, "Greg."

Hannah whistled. "He's pretty, isn't he?"

Ron raised an eyebrow as they watched. "He seems to be all over Brian."

Justin nodded slightly, eyes narrowed at the screen. The camera panned in closer, focusing on Greg, his gaze on Brian's face. It softened as Brian spoke, eyes flicking down to Brian's lips and then back up once more. Justin dug his clenched fist into his leg, refusing to release the growl that gathered in his chest. He had no right. Not one. It wasn't his place.

Fuck that.

He had every right.

No matter where he went, no matter what happened, and no matter what or _who_ he did…

Brian was his.

_His. _

It was gone as quickly as it came, and the screen flashed back to Molly, throwing him a kiss, reminding him they missed him and telling him to call. She winked and the screen went blank. It flickered, and he watched flashes of moments cut across to him. Emmett and Ted. Michael and Ben. Gus and Molly. Debbie, Carl, Jen, the girls… the boys… Brian and Gus. Molly hugging Brian. His mother laughing with Debbie. Ben making Brian give a rare laugh. All the moments passed so fast but Justin let each sink into him. It ended on Brian, not knowing the camera was on his face… He smiled at someone, warmly, and the image faded away.

Justin wanted to cry.

"Wow," Ron said and glanced over at Justin. Sensing that Justin needed a moment, he swatted at Hannah. "How about we go get some take out?" He stared at Justin. "That good with you, J?"

Justin was sure he nodded.

"Right. Come on, girl."

Hannah stood, then thinking better of it, sat back down, closer to Justin. Putting one hand on his knee, she squeezed carefully. "Sometimes we make the wrong decisions thinking that they are the right ones. We can't change them, of course. But, we can make sure to make the ones that we want to make. The ones that make us happy. Not the ones that are expected."

Justin made a noise as he met her eyes. "Fortune cookie or gum wrapper?"

She grinned, then kissed Justin's cheek and walked to where Ron was waiting. Looking back once, she closed the door.

Ron sighed. "Shit."

Hannah swooshed out a long breath. "Yeah."

* * *

Inside the quiet stillness of the loft, Justin stared out of the window into the distance. He hated it when he felt like this. Like every fucking sacrifice he'd made in the three and half years since he'd left home was for nothing.

It hadn't been easy.

Justin snorted, arms crossing as he stared blankly over the view of trees and the background made up of other trendy townhouses and walk-ups. That was an understatement to say the least. He'd worked his ass off since the day he set foot in New York. Forgoing everything else, all his focus had been on success. And he'd gotten lucky, he knew that. He'd struck when it was hot, and it was a pay off.

At almost twenty-seven, he was becoming a leading name in the art world. The talented and assertive up and comer. He'd managed commissions, a solo show, and a run in Paris…

He had a partner (ex-partner now) and manager who cared for him. Deeply. Good friends. And even if his mother and sister weren't as close to him (or he to them) as he wanted, they kept in touch.

So why the fuck did one DVD, full of moments he'd have taken for granted, make his whole life seem empty?

Because what he'd seen wasn't simply moments. It was _life_. It was life going on without him. It represented change and loss. Those times he could never get back, no matter how many pictures he looked at. No matter how many home movies he watched or stories he was told. Because he ached with such wanting that it was hard to sleep some nights. Because…

He wasn't _there_.

And someone else… some random person who didn't understand the people he loved… the person he loved, _was_ there. Did get to see it.

And it pissed him off.

He glanced at the phone, knowing this wasn't the time to call Molly. He might just start yelling at her for her well-meaning, if slightly annoying, gift. She had wanted him to see what he yearned for.

Brian.

Their life…

The last few months had been baby steps for them. That night after the restaurant… Daphne's visit and Brian's involvement… Sharing emails and late night calls about their separate lives. It was all leading somewhere.

Decision made, he hit the speed dial and waited until the ringing was interrupted by a click. Before anything could be said, he heard the words tumble from his mouth. "I fucking miss you."

Justin bit his lip as the longest silence he'd ever experienced passed, until he finally heard the muttered, "Shit."

"That's exactly the response I was looking for." Justin found there was humor in his voice and was as surprised as he imagined Brian had to be. The unspoken rule since that first night when he'd started calling again had been broken. No talking about feelings or wants or needs. The curse had told him more than anything else Brian could have said.

"Justin…"

"And don't even try to tell me that I don't. I know what I fucking feel, Brian."

"I wasn't going to say that."

"Uh-huh." Justin licked his dry lips, swallowing against the ache. "I miss everything about you. Every damn thing." There was more silence and he felt a bubble of hysterical laughter trying to break free. He could sense Brian panicking .

"What the fuck brought this on after three years?"

"Let's just say I got an eyeful of the life I'm missing, and I don't like that." Justin sighed into the phone. "I'm not saying I'm coming home… yet."

"Damn straight you aren't."

Justin cleared his throat. "This is just… a warning."

"A warning?"

Justin knew, at that very moment, that Brian would have a harder time with his decision… the one that would bring him home… than Justin ever would.

"Yep."

"What the fuck does that mean, Justin?"

"It means I'm on to you, Kinney. I know you miss me. I know you want me home. In your life… in your bed…" Justin lowered his voice as he spoke. "And inside you."

Brian coughed. "In your dreams, Sunshine."

Justin grinned. "Fine. We can do this the hard way. Don't even say it, Brian." He stopped the pun he was sure Brian would have made. "Just know that I'm working my way back."

"To what, Justin? What the hell is here?"

"My life. The world I love and know. Everything I'm sure now I want. You, you son of a bitch." Justin growled that last part and glanced at the door as it opened. "Deal with it."

Hannah and Ron waved bags of food at him. He gestured at them to give him a minute and listened to Brian's breathing as he let it sink in.

"Nothing will change my mind. You love me, you bastard. Admit it." There was a low mutter and Justin rolled his eyes. "What was that?"

"Never said I didn't, you little shit."

Justin laughed. "Good to know. I'll catch you later, Brian." He remembered something before hitting the off button. "Oh, and tell Molly I said thanks." He ended the call with that, smiling as he joined his friends.

He had made his decision.

He was going back where he belonged.

* * *

Molly Taylor raised an eyebrow at her almost-if-you-squinted-kind-of-best-friend, as he paced in front of her. Hunter was a few years her senior, but they had hit it off the moment they'd met even though he had been a freshman in college while she was a lowly freshman… in high school. Being the two in the family within the same relative age range, they had bonded. Her eyes fell to the person next to her, and she grinned when Trevor, Hunter's lovely and quite hot boyfriend, winked at her.

Molly loved him.

Everyone loved Trevor.

Hell, even Brian seemed to not mind him much.

"I don't think this was your best idea, Mol," Hunter said again, glancing at her as he continued to groove a path in her mother's hardwood floors.

"Don't be a twat, Hunter."

"I am not a twat." Hunter stopped and met Trevor's eyes, one hand on his hip. "Trev, am I a twat?"

"Only a little bit of one, babe."

Molly snorted a laugh, drinking generously from her Pepsi as she did and almost spitting it all out. That's what she loved about her family… brutal fucking honesty.

"Oh, so I'm a twat for not wanting to go along with her little scheme?" Hunter raised an eyebrow, very reminiscent of Brian, and she snickered some more. It really didn't work as well on anyone else.

"It worked, didn't it?"

"Worked?" Hunter's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "You call Brian ranting at you -- no, correction, at _us_ -- for having sent Justin that DVD a good thing?"

"Of course I do," Molly said, exasperated.

Hunter stared at her, then turned to Trevor with a pleading expression.

"What she means is that if Justin hadn't said something about possibly coming back, then Brian would never have reacted that way." Trevor looked at the door. "He was kind of freaked."

Molly grinned. "Yeah. It was awesome."

Hunter fell on the couch, head in his hands. "You are insane, Molly."

Trevor shrugged. "She's not wrong, though. I mean, this one worked."

Hunter turned his head to look at them. "This one? You telling me you've done this before?"

Molly made a derisive sound. "Duh."

It still didn't seem to register with Hunter, and he threw his hands in the air. "There were other plans?!"

"You aren't too bright, are you, Jimmy?"

She received a glare from both pairs of eyes and waved her hand at them. "Sorry. I know. I know. That was fucked up. But really, Hunter. You think I made all those scrapbooks and organized all those photo albums for my health?" Molly shook her head, sighing. "This was the culmination of a couple years worth of work, man."

"And don't forget that year you spent trying to get Brian to move to New York," Trevor added, meeting Hunter's baffled expression. "What?"

"You knew about her little plans?" Hunter tensed a bit. "And you said nothing to me?"

Trevor looked abashed. "Kind of."

"Traitor."

"Oh, come on, James. _We_ were only friends when she was doing the 'Send Brian to New York' plan, and she asked me not to tell anyone." Trevor shrugged. "And by the time you actually had the guts to admit you wanted my ass for more than an occasional romp, that plan had been scrapped."

Hunter stared at Trevor. "Traitor."

Trevor stood up. "For crying out loud. It wasn't that big of a deal. She kept leaving pamphlets lying around Brian's house… Hinting that the city would have new clients… Getting Jennifer to mention available space."

Hunter turned to Molly. "You are scary."

"I am, yes. But… it didn't work, 'cause Brian isn't that easy to manipulate. Besides, he complains, but he loves it here. It's his home. It's where his work is. I got that, eventually."

"So you switched to Justin."

"Which you knew about," Trevor threw out, meeting Hunter's glare.

"I'm still mad at you."

Molly spoke up. "I asked him to keep it to himself. He was only being a good friend." She grinned at them again. "Besides, it's done. The new plan, which you were aware of even if you pretend ignorance now, Hunter, seems to have worked."

Hunter conceded that. "I guess so. But Brian…"

Molly shook her head. "It's all noise. He's fucking scared 'cause he could possibly have it all now… and well, you know… Brian. That's impossible for him. At least, that's what he believes." She stared at the other two and couldn't help the grin that came across her face. "Shit. Justin is coming home."

Trevor held up his hand. "We don't know that, for sure. Brian said he was _thinking_ about coming back. There's no certainty."

Her eyes fell to the frame on the mantle… the one with her favorite picture of Brian and Justin. Her mother liked to look at it when she was missing Justin. Which was a lot. She even once caught Brian staring at it.

She knew them. They missed each other. And she wasn't stupid. If Justin hadn't been ready to see what he was missing, it would never have worked.

He was ready.

"Justin is coming home."


End file.
